


folie à deux

by strangelysweet



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Bets & Wagers, Blood and Injury, Body Horror, Car Accidents, Character Death, Eating Disorders, Emotional Manipulation, F/F, F/M, Gambling, Human Morgana (Persona Series), Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Lies, M/M, Manipulation, Mind Manipulation, Roleswap, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Harm, Smoking, Suicide Attempt, all sorts of manipulation baby no one is leaving without trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-16 11:27:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 30,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28705923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strangelysweet/pseuds/strangelysweet
Summary: With a dead sister and a criminal record to add to her already heavy emotional baggage, Yoshizawa Sumire is sent to Tokyo on probation to stay with distant aquaintance.She doesn't want to draw attention to herself, much less stand out, but that she does. With the help of a mismatched group of vigilantes, Sumire forms bonds that could change the world as she sees it. Or, regarding a particular detective, change how the world sees her.[HIATUS - the author physically cannot stop herself from creating more and more wips, so here we are. should be back  soon. probably.]
Relationships: Akechi Goro & Sakura Futaba, Akechi Goro/Amamiya Ren, Amamiya Ren & Shido Masayoshi, Kitagawa Yusuke & Yoshizawa Sumire | Yoshizawa Kasumi, Lavenza & Yoshizawa Sumire | Yoshizawa Kasumi, Maruki Takuto & Yoshizawa Sumire | Yoshizawa Kasumi, Morgana & Lavenza, Morgana & Yoshizawa Sumire | Yoshizawa Kasumi, Morgana/Sakamoto Ryuji, Niijima Makoto & Sakura Futaba, Niijima Sae/Takemi Tae, Okumura Haru/Yoshizawa Sumire | Yoshizawa Kasumi, Phantom Thieves of Heart & Yoshizawa Sumire | Yoshizawa Kasumi, Sakura Futaba/Takamaki Ann
Comments: 34
Kudos: 35





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hello!  
> i am once again writing something that will require a lot of emotional investment and time.  
> i'm juggling this with a lot of other wips, so please bear with slow updates. thanks for reading! <3333
> 
> CW: Blood, Injury, Death, Car Crashes,

Her hands are peppered with shards of broken glass, blood swelling on them like beads. The smell of burning tires and smoke fills her mouth and nose, and she feels like she's drowning in it. Voice hoarse from screaming, she lets out a whimper of pain as she drags herself from the wreck, turning onto her back and staring up at the streetlamp. The sound of glass clattering to the floor sends her upright again, and suddenly she's pulling someone out. He screams at her, telling her that it's her fault and that his lawyers will hear about this. 

This man is not her sister. 

This man _killed_ her sister. 

She can smell the alcohol on his breath, and as she screams right back at him, but the only thing she can feel in her chest is emptiness. It's only when the sirens sound, the smoke flashes red and blue, and hands are tugging at her, cuffing her, and shoving her into a car does she stop screaming. 

Instead, she sobs. She cries and cries, huge, soul-breaking wails of loss. 

Yoshizawa Sumire awakens from her sleep with a start. Her hair slides into her face, and she pushes it back behind her ear, swallowing quietly. The train isn't particularly quiet, but making noise seems to be the bane of her existence as of late, so she stays as small and silent as possible. To her left, a boy and a girl about her age are hunched over a phone. Craning her neck to see what they're looking at, she catches a glimpse of a face with high cheekbones and an elegant mouth, upturned in a knowing smile. 

"Isn't she just so cute?" The girl asks, the bow in her hair bright pink. 

Sumire's throat tightens slightly. Her friend nods, rubbing the back of his head. "That Kato girl sure is fine. D'you think she'd go out with someone like me?" 

"As if!" The girl scoffs. "The Detective Princess doesn't have time for _dating_ , not when she's working on the mental shutdowns." 

Sumire looks out of the window, tuning their chatter out as the skyscrapers of Tokyo graze the top of the horizon. Glimmering gold in the afternoon sunlight, they look like the elegant fingers of a goddess, reaching up to touch the sky with effortless grace. This will be good for you, she thinks. It's a fresh start. With another hour on the train journey, she dozes back off, her head leaning against the wall. This time, she dreams about home. In a way, it's almost worse. 

Her dreams don't last long because soon, she's plunged into darkness, the screeching of the wheels on the tracks reverberating through the train carriage. Coming to the conclusion that there's no use in sleeping, she idly taps her phone, waiting for the next station. As the noise slowly dies down in the carriage, Sumire narrows her eyes. There, nestled among her apps, is an icon she's never seen before. Great. Only one day out of town, and her phone has already been hacked. She holds down the picture, ready to drag it over to the bin image at the bottom of the screen. The app opens instead, the creepy eye picture staring at her from below.

Something is wrong; she knows that much. She should have arrived at her station by now, but the tunnel kept going, dark and straight. If she looks closely, Sumire can swear that she sees the walls _change_. They glisten, like skin covered in sweat, dark and gooey. Like the glow of a nightlight in the dark, a sapphire-blue flame quivers in the air. Transfixed, Sumire stares at it, almost making out a shape as it expands like wings, beating the darkness away with long, spidery fingers of fire. 

And then it's gone, the tunnel ends. Shibuya station looks back at her, bustling and bored. Shocked, it's all Sumire can do to gather her bags without breaking down, sobbing in confusion. People press against her on all sides as she gets off, clutching her small suitcase under her arm. Someone steps on her foot, and if anything, it's a sign from God telling her to just give up and curl up on the floor and wait for K -

No. No one can save Sumire from this but herself. This is something Sumire has to do alone, and God-fucking-dammit, she is going to do it _right_. Squaring her shoulders, she looks forward and starts walking, pushing through the crowd. 

Niijima Sae is a pretty woman, with long, silver hair that falls down to her back, and a sharp look on her face. Her nails are painted a pleasant shade of heather-gray, a color Sumire would call "almost purple, but not quite." Standing before Niijima now, she feels small. 

"Good afternoon, I'm Niijima Sae." The woman says cooly, holding out a hand for Sumire to shake. 

She does just that, fearing that making the wrong impression would mean icy stares and overly-firm handshakes for the rest of the year. "Good afternoon, I'm Yoshizawa Sumire. Thank you for taking care of me. I promise I'll be no trouble."

Much to the redheaded girl's surprise, Niijima breaks out into a bright smile. "Oh, you're so much cuter than the paper said you'd be! And polite too. Yes, you'll do nicely. I won't have to send you back now."

Sumire doesn't smile. Paling slightly, Niijima brushes her hair out of her face. "That was a joke. Sorry." 

"N-No, it's fine. I'm not a very good conversation partner." Sumire looks to the floor, shuffling her feet slightly, 

Giving her another once over before turning on her heel, Niijma purses her lips. "You must be hungry. Come, let's get you something to eat on the way home." 

They end up ordering take-out. Shibuya's train station was too clogged to navigate without losing sight of each other, so Niijima drove Sumire to the café, tuning the car radio on. Gazing out of the window, Sumire's hands came to play with the black ribbon tying her hair in a low ponytail, twisting it over her fingers like a spider weaving silk. 

The gavel slams on the wooden pad, and Sumire startles awake, finding her hands handcuffed together. Looking down at her with sharp eyes, the judge glances at the representative lawyer for the man who killed Kasumi. He sweeps up a manila folder, marches over to the judge, hands him the folder, and goes to sit back down, glaring at Sumire as he passes by. She stares weakly back at him, grimacing at how the bandages on her face and hands tightly wound around her skin are starting to feel more like restraints. Tired, in pain, and cold in the thin fabric of her cardigan, Sumire shivers at the stand, watching the judge flip through the folder, then glance back up at her. Promptly clearing his throat, he rattles off something that goes in one ear and out the other, but before she knows it, Sumire is being pulled away again, the gavel slamming once more on the wooden pad as the door closes in front of her. 

When her eyes open, instead of the bustling city she imagined, Sumire wakes up to a quiet back-alley. Bright blossoms fall from fruit trees, falling into clear puddles and onto the awning of a quaint-looking café. Niijima walks in front of the car window, knocking gently on it to rouse the redheaded girl. 

"Come on, your stuff's been delivered." The young woman called, lifting her suitcase out of the boot of her car. 

Getting out of the car, Sumire spots a motorbike hidden underneath a large dustcover, and she glances back at Niijima. She doesn't seem like the type to ride a motorcycle, but who is Sumire to judge? She didn't think she was the type to be tried for assault in court, and yet, here Sumire is. Abandoning all thoughts of motorcycles, the redhead takes her suitcase inside, breathing in the calming scent of coffee. The smell of Niijima's perfume pairs nicely with the aroma, and Sumire gets the feeling that the silver-haired woman feels most at home when behind the bar. Niijima walks past her, nodding to the stairs. 

"Alright, follow me. Your room's up here." She says, bringing up a large cardboard box with her. 

The first thought Sumire has about the attic is that it's big. The second is that she has no clue how Niijima made it spotless and somehow homey, seeing as the large garbage bags and full vacuum bags were stacked precariously by the stairs. 

"I'm sure it's not what you're used to," The young woman starts, tucking her hair behind her ear, "but I'm sure that it's better than prison." 

There isn't a joking tone in her voice like last time, and as Sumire turns around, she's greeted with the icy stare that she was first met with at the station. Niijima's arms are crossed over her chest, and her eyes are sharp. 

"I have a few rules about staying here, Yoshizawa-chan." 

Sumire gulps. "Of course." 

"Your curfew is at nine. Any later, and you'll have to climb the walls of the building to get in. If any - and I mean _any -_ boys are found sneaking out or sneaking in, I'm sending you straight back to Kyoto. If you touch anything in the fridge that isn't labeled for you, you're living on pot ramen for a week. Are we clear?" She asks. "I can also add to these rules as I see fit and take some away if you're well-behaved. I understand you might feel like a child-proofed toddler right now, but this isn't a vacation. You're on probation, you're under my care, so you follow my rules, and I can tell your friends in the courthouse you're reformed, alright?" 

Sumire nods. "I understand. Thank you." 

Niijima stalks over to the desk, perching on it like a terrible bird. "I know what happened. It was a tragedy, yes, but you have to understand the consequences of your actions. Men do what they want in this world, whether it's something as simple as pushing past you on the subway or something like bribing a judge to let him off scott free. Sooner or later, you're going to realize that what's done is done, and the only thing you can do is move on. Don't get even, get better." 

Tears sting the back of Sumire's eyes. She wants to talk back, to tell her that she did nothing wrong and that she can't just "get over" the loss of Kasumi. Her twin. Her other half. No words come out. Nodding slowly, she goes to unpack her things, trying to bite back sobs. The sound of heels clicking on the stairs signals that Niijima is gone, leaving Sumire to wallow in the fact that she is more alone now than she has ever been. 

It feels like trying to see through paper as she staggers to her feet, placing her hands on either side of the mirror mounted to the wall. Spots cloud her vision like ants, but she can make out what she thinks is her face. Yes, that's _me_ , she thinks, fingertips a breadth away from the surface of the mirror. Blood starts to well in the corners of her reflection's mouth, cuts opening on the pale skin as the mole underneath its left eye is stark against the otherwise unmarred skin. It becomes apparent that the face in the mirror isn't hers, or is it? She doesn't know anymore, and everything is blurred behind her tears.

"It should have been me," She whispers, clenching her fist. "It should have been me."

As the floor spins and she falls, Sumire feels a flash of white-hot pain in her head, and she squirms, digging the heels of her palms into the floor to trying and keep herself still. It flares in the back of her throat like a fire, crawling into her eye sockets. As it steadily burns, she bites down on her tongue to suppress a scream, praying for any kind of release. None comes, and she writhes around on the floor, panting in pain. It hurts, it hurts so much, and now - 

Now it's gone. Just as soon and as suddenly as it came, the pain is gone. Behind it, the numb, dull ache of the memory of hurt is left in her skull. Slowly, it melts away, like a stray snowflake melting on the tip of her nose. Sniffing, Sumire brings her hands to her face to wipe away her tears, but she stops. Dotted in her palms are wooden splinters from where Sumire ground her hands into the floor. She can't help but think of the crash, where the glass protruded from her hands like so, and she rushes to the downstairs bathroom to wash them out. 

Niijma leaves her some dinner in the fridge downstairs, giving her a small smile as she exits. How the woman can go from fierce to friendly in a matter of seconds is beyond Sumire's frazzled mind, but as she eats pasta straight from the Tupperware, she thinks back to the train ride into Tokyo. The skyline is different from Kyoto's, yes, but there are similarities. From the train, she could see a temple in Asakusa, and nearby, there's a small fox shrine in a little garden. It isn't quite the Kyoto-grade, but it was a space of greenery nonetheless. As she chews her slightly dry pasta, she remembers how much she loved going to the gardens with her sister. Their house wasn't fair from a large park, and they always took long walks through it after practice, just enjoying each other's company. 

Sumire sniffs, wiping her tears away with the cuff of her sleeve. Only one day in Tokyo, she thinks, and she's already cried twice. 

"What a mess you are, Yoshizawa Sumire." She mutters, getting up to wash the plastic box.

Sleeping in an unfamiliar room usually doesn't phase her. She's gone to meets across the ocean, but Kasumi was always there with her. After falling asleep first, no matter what she drank beforehand, she would breathe quietly in the dark, a calming presence as Sumire slowly drifted off as well. Now, she just stares at the ceiling. She knows that somewhere, encased in dirt and a coffin, lies her twin sister. They face the same direction, and the only difference is that one breathes and one doesn't. Sumire will never hear her mutter something ridiculous in her sleep again, and she'll never hear her light snoring. All she hears is silence. And so she falls asleep. 

Sumire is not asleep. Mist curls around her ankles, and the faint sound of a piano playing echoes through the dark. She's standing, alone, in a tall chamber with no windows, but instead lined with cells. The slow hiss of chains against the stone floor resounds through the room, and she turns around, her heart beating rapidly in her chest. This is not a dream. Sumire feels the cold fog slip down the back of her shirt or creep up her arms and pry its way into her mouth. It tastes like nothing, but it smells like old perfume. All of the cells are dark, and they all seem to be shut and locked. All, she realizes, apart from one. 

Keys hang in the lock, glittering silver like solid moonlight. The way they chime in a wind that isn't there entrances her, and before she knows it, she's walking forward. As she reaches the middle of the room, a sudden spotlight shines down on her. Like a deer caught in the headlights, Sumire freezes, then watches in disbelief as a desk and a chair materialize on a small, circular rug out of thin air. It's completely empty, and for a moment, Sumire is sure that she's hallucinating. Just in case, she pinches herself on the arm. No, she can _definitely_ feel that. 

"Hey, over here!" A voice calls out to her. 

Sumire jumps three feet in the air, placing a hand to her chest in shock. "Who... Who's there?" 

She looks around the cells, but all of them are just out of the spotlight, rendering them inky pools of darkness. That is, until someone - _something_ \- shuffles into view slightly, beckoning to her with a hand that doesn't look quite right. It shifts in the light, like opening one eye to look at something while covering the other and then switching. Looking at it too closely makes her head hurt, so Sumire focuses instead on what she can't see. 

"Over here! Please, I need your help." The voice pleads.

Sumire swallows. Hesitantly, she takes a step backward, ready to run. Frantically, the figure waves their hand, jumping underneath a ragged cloak the color of lapis lazuli. "Wait, _please_ , don't go. I need your help." 

"What can I," She bites her tongue, swallowing the word back down her throat in a quick pang of anxiety. "How can I help? Are you injured?" 

The figure makes a noise of disapproval. The voice sounds male, and if Sumire squints, she can almost make out the vague shape of a human body underneath the raggedy cloak.

"I'm not meant to be here. I don't know why I'm locked up, but you have to help me out." He pleads, gripping the bars, then points to the key dangling from the lock. "That's the key. _Please_ , just help me." 

Taking the key in her hands, Sumire turns it in the lock, hearing a heavy click as the mechanism unlocks. Standing back from the door as it opens, Sumire hesitantly reaches a hand in to help the person underneath the cloth. At that moment, the fabric slips, revealing his face as he grasps her tightly by the wrist. In one fluid motion, the boy tugs her inside the cell, shuts the door behind her, locks it, and grabs the keys. 

"Hey!" Sumire shouts, throwing herself against the bars. 

Tossing the keys up and down in the air, the boy grins. Taken aback by his odd looks, Sumire stares a little at his face. With pale white hair and golden eyes, he certainly doesn't look as human as she thought he was. A small smattering of freckles spread across his nose, and he wore a blue waistcoat and black slacks, with a pair of silver rings in his ears. 

"Sorry," He drawls, obviously not sorry. "It's nothing personal, Matchstick." 

Stunned, she opens and closes her mouth in frustration. "What? Matchstick?"

The keys sail through the air as the boy tosses them from one hand to the other. Grinning deviously, he nods. "Yeah, Matchstick. Red hair, kind of fragile, easy to snap in half, you know?" 

Insulted, Sumire rattles the door of her new cell, her brow knitting. "Let me out. This isn't funny!" 

"No, no, it's not. Which is why I'm getting out of here. Good luck with the old guy!" The white-haired boy sprints off, pulling his cloak further over his head. 

As she slumps down in defeat, Sumire's forehead rests against the bars of her cell, and she shuts her eyes in an attempt to calm herself down. This day, she thinks, has been _utter_ shit. Not only is she hallucinating some hellish dreamscape of eternal jail time, her caretaker thinks she's some reckless criminal, and every passing second, she misses Kasumi more and more. Tears fall from her eyes once more, and she grips the bars as her shoulders shake. 

"It really should have been me." She mutters, wiping her face with the back of her hand. 

As if the gods hear her prayer, Sumire perks up, her ears catching onto the sound of footsteps. She looks up, coming face to face with two young boys. One of them looks like a healthy, good-natured kid, with messy white hair and yellow eyes, just like the other guy. When she turns to face the other one, Sumire stifles a squeak. Where the other child looked like a poster child for good children everywhere, this one looks as if he's sick, with pale skin and blue veins running down into his hands. The scleras of the child's eyes are an impossibly dark blue, and his dark hair seems to glow from certain angles in the light. 

"Good evening, miss." The healthy one says. "I'm Adam. This is Azathoth. We are the attendants of the -"

"Adam," Azathoth stops him by placing a hand on his arm, and they both fall silent, just as a shrill bell went off. "She must rest." 

Nodding sagely, Adam waves goodbye, fetching a red apple from his pocket and taking a bite out of it. He chews for a moment, then swallows, a pleasant smile spreading across his face. "Goodnight, miss. We will meet again soon." 

Sumire feels sleep overtake her, and she falls backward onto the floor. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sumire discovers something rather odd about Shujin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Violence, Blood, Self-Harm References.

Waking up in a cold sweat, Sumire sweeps down the attic stairs, retching into the toilet. Her throat burns, but she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, rinsing out her mouth and getting the towel promised to her by Niijima last night. If she's not mistaken, today is the day she goes to Shujin for orientation. Not wanting her hair to stink of vomit, Sumire slips on an overcoat over her pajamas and sprints across the tiny alley between Niijima's cafe and the bathhouse, startling a nearby cat. 

She runs the hot water into the bath, leaning her neck against the edge of the tub. It's five in the morning, and she has blisters on her hands from gripping the bars of the cell she was trapped in. Sighing, Sumire stares up at the ceiling, watching the steam rise. What an odd place, she thinks, and what strange people. Adam and Aza... Azathoth? Azazoth? Honestly, she has no clue. And that other boy with the white hair, who, just thinking about him, makes Sumire angry. Were they somehow related? White hair isn't something you see every day, and yellow eyes aren't either, so unless it's a strange uniform, it's probably a genetic mutation. 

Tired of not finding the answers, Sumire simply stops thinking about it. Instead, she looks down at the water, tracing her finger over the surface lightly. The ripples follow her eagerly, sending little circles out into the rest of the bath. The smell of her freshly-washed hair is calming, the strong scent of apples reminding her so much of Kasumi. There are days where she can think about her without feeling like she's swallowing needles. When she does, it's the most comforting thing in the world, and it resembles the feeling of coming home. She is so sure that she will never have that kind of bond with anyone else. 

But today soon turns into one of the days where thinking of Kasumi, of her literal another half, is physically painful. Instead of smiling as she thinks of the times they perfected their routine, she stares at the pale lines on her arms. They are sharp, and they are jagged, and some of them are slightly raised on her skin. Before she knows it, her tears are mixing with the hot water in the bath, so she turns off the tap and goes home, pulling her jacket on over her towel. 

"Here," Niijima says, placing a plate of curry on the bar and sliding a mug of steaming hot curry next to it. 

Sumire bows her head in thanks, pulling on the sleeves of her blazer. "Thank you, Niijima-san." 

The woman scoffs, shifting her weight from one foot to another, and flips her hair over her shoulder. "Honestly, Sumire-chan, you shouldn't have to be so formal. If you get into the habit of doing so, then there won't be an opportunity for me to get to know you. You may call me Sae." 

"T-Thank you... S-Sae-san." She stutters, bowing even lower as her face turns bright red. 

Sae-san shakes her head as Sumire sits down, slowly starting to eat her breakfast. "How you were convicted of assault baffles me. Now, eat up. We'll drive today, but you'll take the train tomorrow onwards, alright?" 

Sumire nods, then takes a spoonful of curry. It explodes in her mouth like a sunburst. Warm and spiced, the sweetness dances on her tongue, and at this moment, Sumire confirms that this is the best curry she has ever eaten. She hums in delight, her shoulders relaxing as she counts the spices in her mouth one by one, so in her own mind that she cannot see Sae-san smiling bittersweetly at her. 

Traffic is slow. The radio plays classical music that Sae-san sways along to, almost too slight to be noticed, but Sumire is attentive. She sees the train station's emergency signs as they pass, the reporters fervently waving their arms and talking into their mics with conviction, and the ambulances. There are three that have stopped, and two she has seen speeding towards the scene. Her guardian stop, switching the channel on the radio and peering out of her window. A flash of silver metal peeking from the stony wreckage looks like a jagged bone poking out of flesh. 

"Sweet Jesus," Sae mutters, turning the volume up. "Seven casualties and forty injured."

Sumire's hand flies to her mouth. "How awful. Did the train derail?" 

Her guardian nods. "Yes and no. The driver drove it into the station on purpose due to some kind of mental shutdown. What on earth do they mean by that?" 

Trying to put the image of death and injury out of her mind, Sumire gazes out the car window at the passing scenes of Shibuya. The shops are colored brightly, like candy wrappers as they pass through one street, then they're hued like various stones, elegant and grey. While Tokyo doesn't have the greenery that Kyoto has, it has a lot more variety. Even on a Sunday morning, it's bustling and busy, teenagers drifting in and out of clothing stores with numerous bags in their hands, or loitering around arcades with their friends, laughing silently behind her glass screen. 

When she climbs up the steps of Shujin, she feels herself switch onto autopilot. Smile, nod, bow in thanks, she thinks. Only moving when someone presents her with something or when she's asked, only speaking when spoken to. Sumire glances up at Sae-san as they leave, looking for her smile of approval to let her know she was well-behaved, to tell her that her muted self was perfect. Instead, a stern look is on her guardian's face as they get back into the car. 

"This," She starts, "is your only chance at a normal life. If this is how you want to define yourself to your peers, so be it, but I want to let you know that I am sure that you're better than this." 

"What?" Sumire blurts out. 

Sae-san glances down, raising an eyebrow at her. "If you want to lay low, people won't expect much from you. Sumire-chan, I'm sure that you are more than some quiet kid. You're smart enough to make them impressed. Strive for more than invisible."

Sumire stares ahead, having never heard words like those before, and nods. "Yes, Sae-san." 

" _See_? You're doing it with me, too." The silver-haired woman protest, her eyes trained on the road. "Didn't your parents ever tell you to do better? That you had it in you to push your limits?" 

Slowly, Sumire shakes her head. Silently, Sae-san glances down at her, pursing her lips and diverting her attention back to the road. 

There isn't much one can do when the sky decides to upheave its contents upon the earth, and one has forgotten one's umbrella. As the rain pelts against the windows of the train, Sumire glances down at the apologetic text Sae-san has sent her and sighs. She'll survive getting wet, but her bag might not. There's nothing much she can do about it, so she just sighs once more, a bored feeling of impending discomfort settling on her skin. Catching a glimpse of herself in the glass, Sumire stares back at her own face. The white turtleneck is long in the sleeves, and the skirt is quite the statement piece, the suspenders adding to the rather striking ensemble. She's more than happy to see other students wearing the uniform how she does, knowing she doesn't stand out. 

She follows the other students out, unsure of how to to get to the building. As they all sprint through the rain, Sumire is forced to take shelter underneath the awning of a store, wringing out her ponytail and shaking out the water from her sleeves. God, today really could not get any more miserable. She shifts her weight from one foot to another as the rain comes down in sheets, people dashing through puddles with shrieks of horror and delight. One girl in ripped thigh-highs and chunky, knee-high boots ducks under the awning as well, her skirt fashioned to show delicate ruffles from two slits in the tartan. Sumire stares in awe at how cool she looks with her modified uniform. She comes to about the redhead's forehead with the four-inch platforms, but the hood over her head adds a few centimeters to her height. 

"Damn, I'm really soaked through." She mutters, pulling the hood from her head and shaking out her auburn curls. 

The ginger girl wears her hair down, with two little ponytails on either side of her head held in place with spiked cuffs. A faint blush makes itself known on Sumire's face as she meets the girl's eyes. The ginger-haired girl smiles, her eyes flicking upward to Sumire's fringe. 

"Oh, hold still," She says, reaching up to pluck a flower petal from the taller girl's hair, "you've got something in your hair." 

"O-Oh, thanks." She stutters, pulling her low ponytail over her right shoulder and trying to ignore the flips in her stomach. 

Examining the flower petal, the girl sighs, watching it flutter between her index finger and her thumb. "It's such a shame that the rain's so heavy. Scatters all the pretty flowers everywhere. Makes for a good photoshoot, though, and it looks like something out of a romance VN."

"A what?" Sumire asks, but before the fashionable girl can explain, a car pulls up, the window rolling down. 

The driver of the car, a forty-something-year-old man, pokes his head out of the car window. "Need a ride?" 

The ginger girl swallows and nods, jogging over and getting in the passenger seat. Something about him puts Sumire off, so she shakes her head, stepping out into the rain. 

"No, it's fine." She calls out, just as it speeds away. 

In the rearview mirror, Sumire can see the ginger-haired girl look down in fear, her shoulders hunching up to her ears. The thought that maybe she should have stopped the girl from getting in the car crosses her mind, and the bottom of her stomach flips. 

"God, that stupid bastard." A harsh voice calls from behind her, and Sumire turns on her heel to see a tall boy striding through the crowd. 

His long, light brown hair hangs just above his shoulders, beads of water running through it. Instead of the standard white turtleneck, he wears a black one. Although adorned with bandaids and wound dressings, his face is angular and sharp, his deep red eyes looking as if he could give the car a flat tire just by glaring at it. She lets out a timid squeak as he looks at her, her shoulders hiking up to her ears. 

"You're lucky you didn't get inside. Kamoshida's a real perverted narcissist." He says. "Thinks the school is his own personal castle." 

"K-Kamoshida?" She echoes, unaware her phone has turned on inside her bag. 

The boy frowns. "Yeah, _Kamoshida_. The sports teacher at Shujin? You... You go there, right? You're wearing the uniform, but I don't think I've seen you around. Are you a first-year or something?" 

Shaking her head, Sumire fiddles with the strap of her bag. The rain slows, and a few gentle drops fall into the puddles lying haphazardly around the pavement. "N-No. I'm a second-year. I just transferred." 

He hums noncommittally. "You don't _look_ like the transfer student." 

"P-Pardon?" She squeaks. 

He shifts his weight from one foot to another. "Well, for one, we were expecting someone a little less... _Short_ , let's say. You don't look like you could assault someone." 

She makes a face of both offense and shock, unaware her record had been leaked. Perhaps the boy mistakes it as a look of anger, and he quickly raises his hands in defense, showing her his palms as a sign of harmlessness. 

"Well, maybe you look like you could pull off a _minor_ felony." He settles, but seeing the look on Sumire's face indicates that he's not making it any better. "Whatever. Come on, I'll show you the way to Shujin." 

He nods forward, taking her fast the store with the awning. As Sumire follows him, her head feels as if she's deep underwater, pressure coming at her from all sides. It hurts for a moment, but then the feeling passes. Doing her best to ignore it, Sumire jogs slightly to keep up with him, staring at his back. 

He's pretty, too, with a sharp jawline and an even face, but he's not Sumire's type. She'd sooner run away from him than swoon. Thinking back to the girl underneath the awning with the curly ginger hair, Sumire feels her stomach flip, butterflies dancing around her chest. She knows how shallow it is to like someone because of how they look and how they look only, but she can't really help it. She follows the brown-haired boy around the corner through an alley, stepping in a puddle as she goes. The water feels odd beneath her foot, and she stops, turning around to look at the street. There's something off about this, she thinks, and I'm not sure I like it. 

" _What_ _the_ _fuck_?" A startled yell comes from in front of her, and Sumire snaps to attention, running towards the boy's voice.

She skids to a halt. "What's wrong?" 

Wordlessly, the boy stares up at a large castle in the place where Shujin should be. She glances up at it, then back at him, adjusting her grip on her school bag.

"Did we take a wrong turn?" Sumire asks tentatively, looking around for the school down the length of the street. 

The boy turns to look at her, giving her a look of utter indignance. "'Did I take a wrong turn?' How many castles do you think there are in _fucking_ _Tokyo_?" 

"I don't know! I'm from Kyoto. There's a temple on every other street." She retorts sharply, storming up to the drawbridge in impatience. "Maybe the culture festival starts on the first day, or something." 

"Shit, wait!" The boy jogs up behind her, narrowing his eyes with frustration. "Are you crazy? You can't simply _waltz_ into a castle that appeared out of nowhere. Not alone, at least."

Deciding that she was starting to dislike this boy's attitude, Sumire nods expectantly. "Well. After you." 

The brown-haired boy looks at her with newfound respect in his eyes. Tousling his hair with his bandaged hands, the boy steps in front of her, pushing the imposing doors open. Inside, the castle's foyer smells like cheap perfume and sweat, and if she focuses, Sumire can pick up the scent of a sports cupboard: rubber and energy drinks. The combination is a _lot_ , and she swallows in discomfort. The brown-haired boy wrinkles his nose, then calls out, looking around the room. It's most certainly not a school, Sumire thinks, and the atmosphere is starting to become a little uneasy. 

Heavy footfalls echo through chambers beyond the grand hallway, and instinctively, Sumire steps closer to the boy, who does the same, their backs facing each other. The doors burst open, and in file rows upon rows of soldiers in heavy plate mail, their faces obscured by a mask the shape of a wailing face. 

"What the fresh fuck?" The boy mutters, raising his fists to his face and squaring his stance. 

Reaching into her bag, Sumire brings out her phone to call someone, anyone, but there isn't any reception, and the lines all fall dead. "There's no service." 

"You! You there, scum!" One of the armored figures shrieks, raising his sword in the air to point it straight at the brown-haired boy's face. "What do you think you're doing in King Kamoshida's castle? This is hallowed ground. I'm surprised you're not bursting into flames." 

"Uhh, okay," The boy raises an eyebrow, "that was rude." 

Then, like a bolt of lightning hitting its target, he dashes forward, slamming his heel into the person's shoulder, sending their sword clattering to the ground. Sumire stares on in shock as the others leap into action, but they're no match for the boy's quick reflexes and sharp punches. 

"Didn't anyone ever teach you any manners?" He grunts, punching the armored knight up the face. 

The mask falls to the floor, revealing swirling darkness with two pinpoints of red light staring back soullessly at the pair. Squeaking in terror, Sumire thrashes around as two of them grab her by the arms, forcing her to her knees. Sending one knight crashing into the other, the boy spins around, hair whipping around his face as he boots another in the stomach. It hits the space between his breastplate and belt, the chain mail clattering as the _thing_ staggers backward. But as he does so, the other knights catch him, hoisting him back up. Slowly, glancing around himself nervously, the brown-haired boy realizes that he's outnumbered. 

Sumire cries out as the hilt of a sword knocks the back of his skull, and he sinks to his knees, groaning as a knight in gold kicks him in the gut. A sharp pain upside her head causes her vision to fade to black, but in her final moments of consciousness, she sees the golden knight cackling cruelly. 

When she comes to, the smell of damp and decay floods her nose. Through blurry vision, she sees the brown-haired boy rattling the bars of their cell, yelling profanities into the chamber outside. Sumire sits up, rubbing her head and instinctively patting around for her glasses. It's a reflex, really. She replaced the glasses for contact lenses ages ago. She hasn't worn them since Kasumi - 

Her train of thought stops as she sees the boy approach her, offering her a hand up from the wooden bench. "Glad to see you're not dead." 

Cheery, she thinks. Instead of speaking her thoughts aloud, she takes the boy's hand, nodding. "You, too. Are you alright? Those, erm, knights took a lot out on you." 

The boy grins, a wild glint in his eyes. "Oh, this? It's nothing." 

"Nothing" includes a cut above his eyebrow and a split lip, as well as various mottled bruises dotting the boy's skin. Frowning, Sumire points to her own face, looking up at him with concern. 

"You've got a little something..." She trails off as the boy brings his hand to his forehead, then draws back his bloodied fingertips. 

He rolls his eyes, wipes his hand on the hem of his blazer, and offers it to her to shake. "Akechi Goro. I'm a third-year." 

Hesitantly, Sumire takes his hand in hers. "Yoshizawa Sumire." 

Just as Akechi is about to say something else, the familiar sound of metal clanging together fills the chamber, layered with the sound of rushing water. The knights file in front of the cell Sumire and Akechi are locked in formation. Immediately, Akechi charges at the bars, snarling like a feral animal in a bear trap. 

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" He hisses. "Is this some kind of sick joke to you?" 

Sumire comes up behind him, tugging him away from the door like a knight slams it open, moving out of the way to show the pair a tall man in a pink cloak. With the same flat nose and square jaw as the man in the car, Sumire makes an educated guess and concludes that he is Kamoshida. Although his outfit has changed drastically, the only difference that this man harbors is a pair of sulfur-yellow eyes. As she stares at them, an intense feeling of disgust rolls down her spine; behind his eyes, there is nothing but lust and cruelty. He looks at her how an apex predator looks at prey, and instinctively, she ducks behind Akechi. 

"Kamoshida? What the fuck is going on?" Akechi yells, but receives a swift kick to the stomach as an answer. 

As he falls to the floor, the wind knocked out of him, the guard laughs gleefully. "Watch your tongue, trash. Don't you dare speak to King Kamoshida like that!" 

Kamoshida strides into the cell, grinning widely. "Well, well, well. I was expecting just some ordinary vermin that had come crawling in, but it turns out that it's the Dishonor Student instead! Found someone else to betray, hm?"

The guard that kicked Akechi to the floor now brings him to his feet, just in time for Kamoshida to strike him clean across the face, showing a flash of neon pink speedos underneath the sparkling cloak. Crying out in shock, Sumire rushes forward, only to be stopped by two other knights slamming her back against the wall. As she whimpers in pain, Kamoshida directs his gaze to her with a slimy grin. 

"Oh? Looks like he brought a little _mouse_ with him." He chuckles, stalking towards her with a dangerous look in his eyes. "Is this your penance, Akechi? I'll give it to you; you really know my type." 

Akechi, spitting blood, straight-up _growls_ , snarling like an animal as he rushes forward, fury in his eyes. "Don't you dare fucking touch her!" 

Watching on helplessly, Sumire finds that she's rooted in place with fear. There is nothing I can do, she thinks as Akechi is caught by the neck and held up against the brickwork, a sword underneath his chin. He's going to die, a tiny voice tells her in the back of her head, he'd going to die, and there is nothing you can do to stop it. Kamoshida says something about execution, but she can't hear it because the blood rushing through her ears is too loud, and there is _someone else's voice in her head_. 

"Well? What will it be, ma chére?" The voice lilts in her head, echoing softly. "Will you simply wait and watch? Let this poor boy die?"

The pain that shoots through her head is insane. The only thing that can really come close to even mimicking it is the feeling that came over at Kasumi's funeral, sobbing in the bathroom as she ran her hands over her glass-slashed palms. Thrashing against the wall, her hands come to her face, finding a hard surface over her eyes, hot like fire. It _burns_. The only thought running through her mind is that _it has to come off_ , even if she rips her eyes out of her sockets to get it away from her skin. Clamping her hands over the thing, she tugs, but it doesn't come loose. She pulls again, this time with both hands, and feels a rip. 

"That's right, mon chére, forsake thy noble birth and claim your rightful inheritance!" The voice purrs, smooth like molasses. 

With one final scream, Sumire yanks the mask from her face, the pain burned out of her by the sapphire flames licking across her skin. Nothing but fury and anger remain, and she adjusts her gloves, the long swathes of fabric from her corset flicking behind her in the sudden wind. 

"Call me by my name, and all of my power is yours. You know my name, I've always been there, now -"

" _Jeanne de Valois!_ " She cries, and bright lights fashion themselves into sharp points, piercing through the knights' armor. 

On the floor, holding his neck gingerly, Akechi stares up at her in awe and fear. The cool metal in her hand moves like an extension of her arm, sharp and needle-thin as it sweeps across Kamoshida's face, leaving a black line of seeping tar across the bridge of his nose. 

"You," She hisses, "can fuck right off." 

Akechi scrambles to his feet as Kamoshida trips over his own, backing up against the wall like a frightened animal. Taking the keys with him, he drags Sumire out by the arm, shutting the cell and locking it behind them. 

Breathless, he nods to the hallway ahead, wincing as he rubs his neck. "Let's get out of here." 

"Understood." She nods, "Can you walk alright?" 

Akechi shrugs. "I can't really feel anything right now because I'm hopped up on adrenaline, so let's just say yeah." 

As they sprint through the dungeon, leaping over the rushing water that splits the chamber in half, Akechi seems to keep glancing at her. She frowns, stopping briefly to catch her breath.

"What is it?" She asks, panting. 

He gesticulates vaguely at her outfit. "Well, your costume change seemed to happen because you were briefly swallowed by fire." 

Looking down, Sumire can confirm that yes, she is no longer in the Shujin uniform. Instead of the white, black, and red tartan, she's dressed in a short black bolero jacket, grey britches, and a vibrant red corset. She gasps, bringing her gloved hand up to poke at the white blouse and respective jabot, her face coloring as she spies the gap in the shirt behind the frilled fabric. 

"Oh, sweet Jesus, what on earth is this?" She mutters, her hands coming to her face in embarrassment. 

Leaning against the wall, Akechi snorts. "You look a little like a really fancy fencing teacher. A French one or something." 

Before she can give him a witty reply, a voice sails out to them from across the water. They look to their left, seeing a shape beckon them to the other side, a flash of white fur peeking through the shadows. Sumire glances at the fallen cages, then at the slightly-limping Akechi, and the thought that crosses her mind seems perfectly acceptable to her. Without warning, she takes Akechi by his waist and leaps across, grabbing the chain hanging from the ceiling as she goes. They land with grace, but as soon as she lets go of the taller boy, he staggers forward, hitting the wall for balance. 

"Your heroics -" He stops, coughing slightly. "Your heroics are starting to piss me off. Maybe tell me next time you hoist me up like some _princess_ and leap across a fucking river." 

Sumire adjusts her gloves. "Maybe you should avoid the situations where I have to sweep to your rescue?" 

"Fair point." He admits. 

"You there! With the red hair!" The voice calls out from the cell, beckoning them even closer. 

Standing in the cell at about four feet is a white and dark blue fox, with a red cord tied around its neck. Three silver bells hang from the string, and the fox seems to be dressed in some sort of loose, black shozoku. Akechi stares down at it tiredly, seemingly accepting it out of pure exhaustion. 

"You know what? Sure. There's a kitsune in the magic castle." He states, rubbing his face with the heel of his palm. "Yoshizawa, please just end me now." 

She pats him lightly on the shoulder. "T-There, there. Let's not get too ahead of ourselves. It's only got one tail." 

"How rude!" The fox protests. "One does not simply comment on the number of a kitsune's tails!" 

Rolling his eyes, Akechi gestures in the vague direction of the fox. "Oh, don't worry, Yoshizawa, it's just a _regular_ talking fox. I know, I know, it makes a huge difference." 

The fox bristles. "I am no fox! I am Yusuke! And now, mortals, you shall help me out of here."

Glancing sideways at the taller boy, Sumire makes a face of surprise. As she reaches to turn the keys resting in the lock, Akechi grabs her hands and pulls her to the side. Crossing his arms over his chest, he puffs a lock of hair out of his face. 

"Are we really considering freeing that thing from the cage? How do we know it's not a demon?" He asks but doesn't bother lowering his voice. 

Shrugging, Sumire rubs the back of her neck. "Well, I don't think it's dangerous." 

"I am a he!" Yusuke shrieks, tail thrashing wildly. 

"What's the worst that can happen?" She asks. "It's not like he can hurt us." 

Sighing, Akechi pushes off of the wall he's leaning on, shrugging. "Whatever. It's your funeral." 

Smiling triumphantly, Sumire unlocks the cage, letting the door swing open. Yusuke strides out regally, his paw resting on his wakizashi. His full height is about four and a half feet, and he's nearly as tall as Sumire. Although his eyes are sharp and cold, there is a gentle look to him, and he bows low to Sumire as she steps back. 

"Thank you. Your act of kindness will not be forgotten. My name is Yusuke." He says, bowing low to Akechi as well. "Unfortunately, I don't remember much more than that, as I appear to have lost my memories upon transforming into the form you see now." 

Sumire bows back out of courtesy. "I'm Yoshizawa Sumire. This is Akechi Goro." 

Akechi holds a hand up. "Can you get us out of here?" 

Nodding, Yusuke points his nose towards the door just past them, swiping his kitsune mask onto his face. "Yes. Follow me."

As he bounds through the chamber, Sumire nudges Akechi in the arm, smiling triumphantly. "See? I told you it would be okay."

Akechi only hums in response, chewing on his lip. He doesn't say much as Yusuke leads them through hallways and corridors, jumping onto the backs of unsuspecting knights. 

"Sandayu!" He calls out, and a tall figure appears behind him, the same heatless fire bursting forth from his mask. Neither she nor Akechi can see what it is; it moves too fast for them to catch a solid glimpse. 

Nevertheless, Sumire does the same, calling out for Jeanne, not daring to turn around. She feels the presence of something behind her and she hears the chiming of crystal against crystal, but part of her doesn’t want to turn and she what Jeanne is. Yusuke gasps, though, then grins in triumph, pointing to the knight with his wakizashi. 

"Together!" He yells, and Sumire nods. As they attack the... _Thing_ , Yusuke calls out to her again. "This is a Shadow. They are cognitive beings that personify twisted desires. The ruler of his Palace, a cognitive structure that a truly horrible person has created, is a much more powerful thing, as it stems from the lust of a real person: Kamoshida." 

The Shadow bursts into black goop, a terrifying wail leaving its maw as it dies. Akechi grimaces, then glances to his left. 

"I see a window. Yoshizawa, this way." He calls, nodding at Yusuke to come too. 

The fox raises a paw. "I cannot. There is still more to do here. Yoshizawa-san, Akechi-san, I thank you for your help."

Sumire waves cheerfully back at him. "See you around, Yusuke."

"Thanks, uh, Yusuke," Akechi mutters as he boosts the redhead up to the window. 

The fox simply bows once more, then rushes off into the shadows, his kitsune mask vanishing into the dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hehe sorry for the long chapter. they're all going to be of varying length, so updates may be a little inconsistent.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Akechi takes Sumire back to Shujin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Mentions of Eating Disorders, Implied Sexual Harrassment.

Sumire hits the ground, and she hits the ground _hard_. Wet from the rain, the tarmac glistens in the dim light of the alley. Next to her, Akechi coughs, wincing as he places a finger on the cut on his forehead. They look at each other, then at the perfectly normal Shujin. 

"Shit," Akechi mutters, bringing out his phone. "We're _really_ fucking late." 

"Yes, Akechi," A familiar voice calls out from across the street. "You are." 

Sumire gets to her feet, looking up at the man who held a sword to Akechi's throat and had tried to kill him. Instinctively, she steps in front of the boy, even though he's three heads taller than her and could crush her skull with his bare hands. She glances over at her shoulder, catching the look of surprise and gratitude that flashes in Akechi's eyes. 

She turns back to Kamoshida, scanning his face for any signs of recognition. As she walks up the stairs, his hand shoots out, grabbing her by the arm. 

"Do I know you?" He asks, dark eyes narrowing. 

Although she flinches, Sumire does her best to show no fear on her face. Jeanne whispers calming words in the back of her mind, spectral hands stroking down her hair. 

"Just you wait, ma chére," She says, "I'll kill him before he harms you." 

So Sumire shakes her head. "No, sir. I'm the new transfer student." 

Kamoshida makes a noise of contempt, letting her go but sending a nasty look to Akechi. "You stay away from the new kid, y'hear? I hear one more bad thing on you, and you're going straight to the principal." 

Turning on his heel as he walks backward, Akechi sends him a lazy salute, grinning sloppily. "Sir, yes, sir." 

With no choice but to follow the brown-haired boy into the school, Sumire adjusts her bag and slips through the glass doors. The bells ring for lunch just as they enter the halls, and Akechi nods towards the roof, holding up five fingers after pointing to a clock. Bowing her head in a show of confirmation, Sumire makes her way over to her homeroom teacher's office. 

Kawakami Sadayo is a tired woman. She doesn't have the time to be dealing with truancy and bad behavior. But here she is, dealing with a timid girl branded as a delinquent from a simple post on a blog. How her record was released is beyond her knowledge, and thinking too hard makes her head hurt. 

"God, I need a Tylenol." She mutters, raising her hand to her temple as Sumire stands in front of her, fidgeting with her sleeves. "Look, just don't let this happen again, alright? I'll introduce you to the class after lunch. Go get some food, or whatever." 

Sumire nods, slipping out the door and trying her best to mix in with the crowds. Sumire's best isn't enough, apparently, because almost immediately, someone whispers her name, pointing from their locker. 

"Look! Wow, she sure doesn't _look_ like a criminal." One girl says, giggling behind her hand. 

Another kid chuckles, whistling out a low note as she passes. "D'you think she's... You know, do you think she's got _experience_?" 

Feeling her face fizzle with heat, she turns on her heel and is about to yell right back at him when a loud voice sails over the crowd.

"Oi, Shunsuke!" 

The crude boy lifts his head up from his chortling with his friends, finding himself face to face with a tall boy with dark hair. He's built like a Greek god, with broad shoulders and slim hips, his dark eyes brimming with disdain as he glares down at Shunsuke. Sumire swallows as he steps between her and the boy, arms crossed authoritatively over his chest. 

"Ah, S-Senpai, we didn't see you there." Shunsuke stammers, sweating profusely. 

Said "Senpai" cocks his head to the side, grinning widely. "Oh, no worries, guys. Just repeat what you said to this girl to my face, and I'll be on my way." 

Jeanne giggles. "A knight in shining armor, hm?" 

Shunsuke stammers more, trying to come up with an excuse as he glances nervously between Sumire and this "Senpai." The dark-haired boy shakes his head, his smile turning into one of pity. 

"You _can't_ , can you?" He says, his tone light. "Apologise to her and be on your way. I have paperwork to be doing." 

Much to her surprise, all three boys bow low in front of Sumire, glancing awkwardly up at "Senpai." He flashes her a friendly smile as they scatter through the hallways, offering her his hand to shake. 

"Hey, glad to see a new face around here. 'M sorry your welcome isn't as warm as it should be." Senpai says, smiling warmly. 

Sumire shakes his hand, a ray of hope shining through the dismal halls of Shujin through this boy's smile. "Thank you. I'm Yoshizawa Sumire." 

"I'm the Student Council President." The boy says, but before he can say his name, yet another shout bounces off the walls. 

Akechi shoulders his way through the crowd, hair tied back in a messy ponytail. Girls scurry away from him, squealing in both terror and excitement. "Hey, Yoshizawa! When I tell you to meet me somewhere in five, I mean _minutes_ , not _hours._ " 

Senpai raises an eyebrow, his face hardening. "Oh, you've already met Akechi, I see." 

His expression changing from one of mild inconvenience to one of irritation, Akechi rolls his eyes. "Hey, Prez. Aren't you a ray of fucking sunshine?" 

"Language," Senpai drones, pinching his brow, "Yoshizawa, is he bothering you?" 

Glancing at each of the boys in turn, Sumire can only let out a simple, "Uhhh..." 

Behind them, watching the scene unfold with starry eyes, a gaggle of girls grip each other in excitement, murmuring something about two boys facing off in front of the redhead. Suddenly aware of how much more attention is on her, Sumire's face turns cherry-pink, and she fidgets with her sleeves as Akechi inches closer, glaring sharply at Senpai. 

"Yoshizawa, meet the guy with the biggest stick up his ass I've seen since Christ," Akechi drawls, not taking his eyes off of his apparent nemesis, "Sakamoto Ryuji." 

Rolling his eyes, Sakamoto glares straight back, drumming his fingers on his arm. "Don't make me give you a detention for insensitive language, Akechi." 

Taking Sumire by the arm, gently, she notes, Akechi shoots Sakamoto a biting smirk. "You can suck my dick, _Prez_." 

A few of the girls squeal, muttering things like, "They have such good chemistry," or "Sakamoto-senpai's face is red!" Sumire shoots them a look, praying she's at least half as scary as the two boys fighting in front of her. Before she can gain their judgment and figure out if she can be intimidating, she finds herself being led up the stairs, unfamiliar faces blurring together as Akechi drags her to the roof. 

"Sweet or savory?" Akechi offers her two round loaves of bread, each wrapped in plastic. 

Hesitating, Sumire nervously glances at him, chewing on her lip. Eating in front of people has never been her strong suit, especially with Kasumi being the twin with a better metabolism. It was strange, really, how they were twins, and yet they looked so different. Kasumi was always the slender one, with the pretty, angular face. Like a heron, her mother used to say, pinching the brown-haired girl's cheeks. Meanwhile, Sumire lacked a flat stomach and made up for Kasumi's lack of stretch marks with the ones around the bases of her thighs, silvery and pale like scars. Even now, Sumire is afraid to eat too much or simply take from other people. 

Akechi seems to realize the source of her indecisiveness and shrugs, leaving both loaves down at the table they're sitting at. "Don't stress it. I'll leave these here if you want them." 

Looking around the roof, Sumire watches a few birds fly overhead, perching on the awning by the door. Tables are bunched up by the generator, chairs strewn haphazardly around them. Akechi sits in one of them, his feet propped up on a desk as he leans back and forward, balancing on the back legs of the chair. Under his scrutiny, Sumire doesn't feel small, just observed. For his entire personality and bad-boy reputation, he doesn't seem malicious. If anything, he's _considerate_ , Sumire thinks. She pointedly ignores the way he took down those knights earlier. 

"Knights," She murmurs aloud, raising her hand underneath her chin in thought. 

Akechi hums in confirmation, leaning forward to balance his elbows on his thighs as he removes his feet from off the table. "What the hell did you do in there?" 

Jeanne moves in the back of her mind, and the rustle of fabric follows her. Sumire glances up at him, meeting his dark red eyes. "Well, I called out to something, someone, I mean. I don't think I actually saw her, though." 

She doesn't mention that she can feel Jeanne in the back of her brain, the faint glare of shining, clear crystals clouding the edges of her mind's eye. 

"Jeanne de whatever, yeah. She was real shiny, let me tell you." Akechi mutters, knitting his fingers together. "And the talking fox? Yusuke? He had one too? I didn't see it; it was so damn fast." 

Sumire nods. "I'm not really sure what they are, but they're not malicious." 

Silence falls over them once again, and Sumire stares at the loaves of bread on the table. Is she insulting him by not eating them? Or does he actually not want her to eat them and is saving them for himself? Her thoughts race through her head like a whirlwind, and suddenly it's a little difficult to breathe. It's just bread, she thinks to herself, it's just _bread_. An unexpected hand on her shoulder rouses her from her dizzying mental teacups ride, and she looks up into Akechi's worried face. 

"Hey, hey," He says, "you really don't have to worry about it, Yoshizawa. I grabbed an extra one just in case, but you can ignore it if you want." 

Dragging in a heaving breath, she blinks the tears out of her eyes. She's so _tired_. "Sumire." 

"What?" 

She blinks sleepily at him, tucking her hair behind her ear. "Call me by my first name. Sumire." 

"Alright." Akechi nods, tousling his own hair. "You can call me Goro. You did, uh, save me from getting my head chopped off by our volleyball teacher in a hot pink speedo, so you deserve that much for your trouble." 

Nodding slightly, she gives him a weak smile, ignoring the way the plastic wrap crinkles in the wind. A sudden thought hits her, and she sits up a little straighter. 

"You seem to have an... _Interesting_ relationship with the student body. And Sakamoto-senpai, for that matter." She says, rubbing the back of her neck. 

Sighing, Goro slumps down in his seat, groaning. "Oh, tell me about it. I'm too much of a danger to society to be able to talk to people without them pissing themselves, but they think it's just fine to speculate about every single relationship I have. Sakamoto's a narc. That's all you need to know. I guess I should have expected it from the police detective's son." 

"His father is with the police?" Sumire asks, cocking her head to the side like a curious bird. 

"Nah," Akechi shakes his head. "His mom is. His dad's probably some accountant or whatever. Steer clear if you don't want to get a shitty report on your behavior sent straight to the principal." 

His tone is harsh and cold as he speaks about the dark-haired Student Council President, and the more Sumire asks about it, the more she knows she's going to regret it later. Jeanne tells her to lean back and step away from the conversation topic and almost immediately finds her another. 

"Ask him about your pretty friend," She says. "Maybe he'll know her name?" 

Before she can stop herself, Sumire is moving on autopilot, and this time, it's controlled by Jeanne. "Do you know a girl in my year with the pigtails?" 

She imitates the twintails on either side of said girl's head, and Goro cracks up, a smirk spreading across his face. 

"Oh, you mean Isshiki Futaba." 

"Isshiki Futaba..." Sumire tries the name out in her mouth, mulling over how it feels. Fishing out a can from his bag, Goro pops the lid open and licks the foam frothing out. 

"She's a model. I think she's also the biggest victim of Kamoshida's shitty behavior." Goro says between sips of his drink. "He's... Not a good man." 

Shivering, the redheaded girl subconsciously wraps her arms around her chest protectively, looking to the floor. "Figures. I'm... I'm sorry I didn't get to you sooner. In the Palace, I mean." 

Goro waves it away, setting his can down. "Don't stress it. I've had worse. I'm just glad you did your weird demon summoning thing when you did." 

The door shuts quietly behind Sumire when she enters Sae-san's café. She never noticed the name of the café until now, and it brings a smile to her face. Beauvoir is the name of the café, sprawling across the heather-gray awning in a clean font. 

"For Simoné de Beauvoir," Jeanne whispers. "Your guardian is a woman of culture." 

Sumire nods, praying she's a woman of _mercy_ as well. Her life flashes briefly before her eyes as Sae-san turns around, fire in her eyes. Throwing the towel she was wiping the bar down with onto a table, she storms over to Sumire, who freezes up like a deer caught in the headlights. As the young woman raises her hands, the redhead flinches, shying away from her in fear. She expects a slap, bracing herse for the stinging pain in her cheek. 

"Good God, Sumire, do you know how worried I've been?" Sae-san says, sweeping her up into a tight hug. 

Slowly, each of Sumire's muscles starts to relax, and she breathes out a shaky sigh of relief. "I'm really sorry. I got lost, and there was this man -" 

It wasn't technically a lie. Sumire _did_ get lost, and Kamoshida was a creep, so this wasn't really lying per se. Also, it was really great to get a hug. Tentatively, she places her hands on Sae-san's back, reciprocating her embrace. 

"I'm sure the school will deal with this some way or another, but if you _ever_ do that again, I'm going to have a heart attack." The woman says, patting Sumire's head. "What do you want for dinner?" 

Before Sumire can answer, a young woman sitting at the bar looks up, a blank expression on her face. Although smudged with heavy kohl eyeliner, her eyes are cat-like, flickering across the two like someone spinning a knife between their fingers. Her mouth is painted a deep plum color, with a silver ring sitting delicately in the middle of her bottom lip. 

"So, Sae-chan," She says, her voice husky and low, "this is the stray?" 

Sae-san gives the woman a sharp look, but smiles nonetheless. "Sumire-chan, this is Dr. Takemi. She's my, uh..." 

Trailing off, the silver-haired woman looks to Dr. Takemi, fumbling over the next few words. The doctor interrupts her, taking a sip of coffee. "Girlfriend. Call me Doc or Dr. T. I don't mind." 

Bowing her head in greeting, Sumire steps away from her guardian, adjusting her schoolbag. "Good afternoon, Takemi-san." 

"Huh. Both polite and a smartass at the same time." Takemi snorts, taking another sip of her drink. "Well, I'm off. Tell me if the condition gets worse, and I'll distribute more of the medication, okay?" 

As she leaves, she presses a kiss to Sae-san's lips, leaving a faint, dark purple outline in the corner of her mouth. The door shuts behind her softly, the small bell chiming by the doorframe. There's silence as Sae-san prepares her dishes for cooking, washing her hands and wiping the lipstick from the corner of her mouth. Sumire walks up the stairs, tossing her back onto her dresser and flopping down on her bed. She is bone-tired. The last time she was this exhausted was after the championships with Kasumi. While her sister had come home with three gold medals and not a drop of sweat to be wiped from her brow, Sumire came home with her knees week and two silver medals. She also had one gold, but it was the one she shared with Kasumi. 

("It doesn't count, Sumire!" Her mother said, grabbing her by the chin. "When will you be like your sister?" 

She had looked to her father in tears, begging him silently to do something, but he only turned the pages of his newspaper, licking the pad of his thumb.) 

Her face buried in her pillow, she's so close to passing out, but when she closes her eyes, the faint sound of an aria plays, the damp feeling of mist curling around her body beckoning her to enter. 

It takes her a moment to realize that she's walking, her feet hitting the cold stone of a tall chamber. Next to her, a woman who is easily ten feet tall walks with her, fanning her face with a crystal fan. Her skin sparkles like crushed diamonds, but her eyes are a pretty shade of muted blue, looking down at her with fondness. Her dress is burgundy with a plunging neckline that reveals a V printed onto her shimmering skin, red and angry, like a burn. While her shoulders are covered with white lace, there is a large slit in her bells-shaped skirt that reveals a revolver strapped to her thigh, resting just above her white stockings. The lady's _pièce_ _de_ _résistance_ , however, is the tasseled diamond necklace draped across her collarbones. 

"Jeanne?" She asks quietly, worried that speaking too loudly would make her disappear. 

Jeanne de Valois gazes down at her with kindness in her eyes, her diamond fan fluttering. When she speaks, Sumire hears it both in her ears and in her head, and it reverberates like a champagne flute being tapped against a fork. "Good evening, ma chére." 

"You're," Sumire breathes, "so beautiful." 

Her laugh chimes like glass chandeliers swinging from high ceilings, echoing around the room like a song. "It's the diamonds."

As they walk further into the circular room, the desk and high-backed chair materialize into view once more, this time with someone sitting in it.

The person extends their arm to the side, their face obscured from view, beckoning them closer. "Trickster..." 

Sumire obeys, coming to stand in front of the desk, Jeanne gliding behind her. In the seat, sitting with his hands folded under his chin, is an old man. Wild, bushy eyebrows frame his small eyes, arched upward in an expression of playfulness. Behind her, Adam and Azathoth step into the light, hands clasped behind their backs. 

"I am Igor." The old man says, peering over his (impressively large) nose. "Welcome to the Velvet Room." 

Adam clears his throat, tossing a red apple up and down. "We're so pleased to finally meet both of you." 

Saying nothing, Jeanne places her shining hand on Sumire's shoulder. The Velvet Room's cells are empty, and the white-haired boy who locked Sumire into one of them is nowhere to be seen. She can't help but think that he might have worked with the twins due to their similar uniforms. Igor motions for her to have a seat at another high-backed chair that appears out of nowhere, mist curling around his index finger as he points at it. 

"In a few days' time, Trickster, you will come back to us, and when you do, we will provide you with a contract," Igor says, drumming his fingers on the desk. "This contract will _save_ you, Trickster. There is a ruin coming to this world that only you can stop." 

Sumire inhales deeply, fidgeting with her fingers as she listens to the words echoing around the room. Kasumi should be doing this, she thinks. In fact, Sumire must have believed it so hard that she said it aloud. Her hand flies to her mouth, and Igor chuckles, his deep voice rumbling like stones rolling down a mountain. 

"No, no, Trickster. _You_ have been chosen." Before he can continue, a faint bell rings out, and he glances upward into the shadowed rows of cells, then nods to his attendants. "I'm afraid our time has been cut short. Until we meet next." 

With a flash of blue light, Igor and his table explode into a cloud of blue butterflies, rising up past where the light reaches. Staring after them, Sumire watches as Adam and Azathoth melt into the shadows. As he tips his hat, Adam shoots her a smile, his golden eyes mischievous. She waves goodbye, waiting for the room to spin her back to reality. It doesn't, and Jeanne snaps her fan shut, brandishing it like a knife. 

"Chére, something is not right." She murmurs. 

Frowning, Sumire looks around, scanning the Velvet Room for something off. Then her eyes catch on him. Lurking in the shadows, a hood over his head, stands the boy who threw her in a cell. 

"Don't trust them." He calls out. "Don't trust any of them." 

Sumire stands up tall, trying to hide the tremors in her voice. "Who are you?"

Grinning widely, the boy steps further into the light, golden eyes glinting like coins. "A friend. You should go back to sleep now. You wouldn't want him to find you here without permission." 

Then, as if on cue, the floor slowly falls apart beneath her feet, and she falls backward, tumbling through an abyss of locks, keys, and chains. They hiss as they slide against each other, coiling together like snakes, and Sumire feels her stomach flip.

"Farewell, ma chére," Jeanne calls, her crimson skirts rustling. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a little information on jeanne!  
> \- not to be confused with the saint of the same name, jeanne de valois was the thief who tried to steal marie-antoinette's necklace. although she was caught, this was a big turning point in the french revolution  
> \- for her crimes, she was branded with a v on her chest for 'thief.'  
> \- although she married a noble, she wasn't accepted into high society, as she herself wasn't born into noble blood. 
> 
> that's all for now! happy reading :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sumire meets two new people, one who actually introduces herself and another who helps her with a problem and promptly disappears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Homophobia, Slurs 
> 
> *slaps roof of the fic* this baby can fit so much trauma in it

Sumire really does not want to be here. The class stares as she walks in, all of their quiet muttering vanishing as she closes the door shut behind her. Oh, God, she just wants to crawl into a hole and die. This entire ordeal, from her record being leaked to being labeled as Goro's - She can't even say it.She thinks back to earlier, sitting down at her desk and pulling her phone out to stare blankly at her home screen. 

_The hallways were emptier than they were yesterday, so when Sumire opened her locker, she felt the other students' stares on the back of her neck. The experience was akin to having a very small laser pressed to the nape of her neck, slowly burning through her skin. It was all made so much worse by Goro striding through the halls, slamming his hand above her head, the locker door rattling from the pressure. It was quite literally something out of a manga. All they were missing were floating roses and sparkles sailing through the air. Inwardly, Jeanne groaned in exasperation. Gasps echoed around the hallway, and one girl even squealed with excitement, calling up her friend with an enthusiastic "Akechi-kun's done it again!"_

_She didn't know what that meant. At the time, she was too preoccupied with the scary look on her upperclassman's face, dark eyes narrowed into slits. "We need to talk. You're going to meet me on the roof after school, got it?"_

_"Got it!" She squeaked, hiding her face behind a dark blue ring binder, praying that he wasn't angry with her. It was always a little hard to tell with Goro._

_And just like that, he was off, his hands shoved in his pockets. Either he was trying to prove a point or he was just really oblivious, but the effect was already cast: Sumire appeared to be his girlfriend. In the eyes of the school, that was._

Sumire sighs, tightening the ribbon of her ponytail and gazing out of the window. Nothing in her life will be uneventful, she realizes, and there is literally nothing she can do about it. 

Jeanne flutters her crystal fan, the sound of glass chiming around the redhead's brain like music. "That doesn't have to be a bad thing, chére." 

Shaking her head, she lets out another sigh, leaning her face on her hand.

"That's a big sigh." A girl says, plopping down in front of Sumire, shrugging her bag onto the back of her chair. 

Immediately perking up, Sumire flushes pink, moving her desk backward. "Sorry, I'll move it!" 

The ginger-haired girl from yesterday giggles, straddling the back of her chair and folding her arms underneath her chin. "Hey, hey, don't worry. You're all clear. The desk is fine. You're, uh, Yoshizawa, right?" 

Taken aback by the fact that this girl, who is infinitely more fashionable, prettier, and more desirable than Sumire herself, is _actually talking_ to her and _knows her name_ , the redheaded teenager gapes at her like a goldfish. She does so for about a beat or two too long, and the girl cocks her head to the side, quirking her eyebrow up in confusion. 

"That is your name, right?" She asks, her earrings jingling as she moves her head. 

Sumire nods, answering a little too quickly. "Y-Yes! Yoshizawa Sumire, that's me." 

Laughing stiffly, she immediately withdraws into herself, fiddling with her hair. She's surprised for the umpteenth time that day as the girl laughs too, sweet and melodic without a hint of malice. "Damn, it's hard to believe people think you're with _Go-chan_ , of all people. I'm Isshiki Futaba." 

"Go-chan?" Sumire asks, tapping her finger against the side of her face in thought. 

Isshiki nods, puffing her bangs out of her face. "Yeah, Go-chan. Your so-called 'delinquent boyfriend,' you know?" 

Sumire chokes on her own saliva, partly because she can't believe that people think that she and Goro are dating, but mostly because the nickname Isshiki has for him is _literally_ sending her to another plane of actuality. Who knew nicknames could transcend one's existence in this world? Smiling brightly, Isshiki pats her lightly on the back, giggling too. 

"He's not - We're not -" Sumire tries to explain, her stomach hurting from the laughter. 

The model waves her hands in front of her chest. "Oh, no, no, I know. You are totally not his type. He's into men -"

She stops herself as she realizes she's said too much. "Uhh, Go-chan's into men... Um, manly... _Masculine_... Masculine women..." 

They both blink at each other for a moment, wondering if the blatant cover-up settled well enough for them to move along and forget the entire exchange ever happened. Not to anyone's surprise, it didn't. As Sumire bites her lip to suppress a smile, she watches Isshiki flail to recover the situation, twirling her ribbon around her finger. 

"Oh my God, please don't tell him I told you." She whispers, leaning in close to keep their conversation private. 

Isshiki smells like candy and cinnamon, and her lipgloss shimmers like glossy sugar. Sumire swallows, her teeth pressing into her bottom lip as the girl glances over her shoulder, glaring sharply at a pair of boys muttering something about the redhead's delinquency. Turning back to face her, the ginger-haired girl pats her head lightly. 

"You're neat. I like you. Let's hang out." She says simply, smiling brightly. "Don't listen to the others. They don't know what they're talking about." 

But something changes in her face as a particularly loud comment sails through the room, harsh and biting. A girl with a high ponytail snickers behind her hand as a girl with a slick bob glares sharply across the room.

"Ugh, Isshiki's cheating on Kamoshida-sensei again. What a freak." She mutters, but her voice projects across the room. "I don't know what he sees in a _dyke_ like her." 

Sumire glances up at Isshiki, who stands stock still, an expression on her face that seems torn between fury and fear. Her shoulders are quivering, either because she's holding back tears or trying to stop herself from decking that nasty bitch in the face. Sumire'd do it for her. She knows she would; this kind of prejudice and discrimination sets her teeth on edge. 

_Hold on_. Since when does injustice make Sumire this mad? It never sat right with her, but she's never gotten to the point of wishing violence on other people. She stares down at her hands, how they've curled into fists, and she can't place where that burst of emotion came from. Then, sparkling in the back of her mind, Jeanne _growls_. 

"Let me tear her to pieces, ma chére, it's what brats like her deserve." She hisses, her white hair flowing freely around her shoulders like a cobra's hood. 

"You're _kidding_ ," Goro frowns, taking a sip from his canned drink. "And you didn't even punch her?" 

Sumire shakes her head, looking at the floor. "No. I guess I'm a real coward, huh?" 

Shaking his head, her friend crosses one leg over the other, leaning back in his chair. "You're not a coward. You're just, what, sixteen? You shouldn't have to shoulder the responsibility of educating your peers on their stupid, homophobic views. But good on you for being a good ally." 

Toeing the concrete with her shoe, Sumire glances up at her friend. "Well, actually, Goro-senpai, I just wanted to let you know that I'm... Attracted to girls as much as I am boys." 

A small, relieved smile places itself on Goro's face. "Oh, nice. Uh, thanks for sharing that with me. In return," He clears his throat, and Sumire swears she can see him puff out his chest proudly, "I like dick." 

"Goro-senpai! That's - " Sumire chokes out, thumping her fist on her chest after a sharp inhale caused her windpipe to hoover in a lot of dust. "Well, that's one way to put it. And, um, I know."

Narrowing his eyes, Goro places his can on the table next to him, his chair snapping forward as he leans towards her, raising an eyebrow. "You _do_ , do you? Was it Isshiki? Oh, that girl is _dead_ the second my hands find her neck -" 

As Goro gets to his feet, Sumire follows him, leaping in front of the rooftop's door. "No, no! It's not her fault; it was purely an accident." 

He stops, seemingly mulling the thought of cold-blooded murder over in his head, then turns on his heel, grumbling something about luck and mercy. Following him back to the chairs, Sumire checks her phone. 

"We have a few more minutes left. What did you want to talk about?" 

As Goro rolls his sleeves up, a cool breeze tousles his hair, blowing it in his eyes. Taking a hair tie from around his wrist, he pulls it back, deep in thought. Sumire swallows, feeling Jeanne tap her heeled shoe in anticipation. 

"I want to go back into the Palace. It's Kamoshida's inner psyche, right? We might finally find some dirt on him and get him to court." Goro says finally, an expression of grim determination set on his face. 

She can't think of a reason not to. The Palace is where she's powerful, where she's with Jeanne, and the questions she has bubbling in her head could be answered by Yusuke. So Sumire nods, slinging her bag over her shoulder. 

"Alright. After school, okay? We'll try to get back in." She promises him, squaring her shoulders. 

Honestly, Sumire doesn't really know why she offers to help so many people. Kawakami said something about delivering some bags to the front garden, and the tired look in her eyes just pulled at Sumire's heartstrings. So here she is, dragging down several sacks of _dirt_ down several flights of stairs. Panting, Sumire wrestles with the bag, shoving it onto the third floor's landing and trying to ignore the thin trail of soil on the wooden floor. Curse this stupid mulch, she whispers to Jeanne, curse this stupid dirt and tell it to fuck - 

"Do you need a hand?" A gentle voice calls out to her, and she looks up, strands of her hair falling into her face. 

In front of her stands a sweet-looking boy with cat-like eyes and fluffy black hair, dark eyes staring at her with concern. Dressed in a violet-colored, gauzy dress shirt with a sleeveless turtleneck underneath, the boy looks ethereal. Pale and slender, the translucent sleeves of his shirt frame his limbs like petals frame a flower stalk. He doesn't look like the type who could lift the heavy sacks of fertilizer down several flights of stairs, especially not with his delicate hands and fancy-looking locket around his neck. Still, Sumire could take all the help she can get. 

"Y-Yeah, that would be nice." She replies, straightening out her uniform. 

Compared to this boy, she resembles the dirt. To say that it's humbling is an understatement. Jeanne tuts at her for the comparison, but Sumire has to remind her that she is made of _literal fucking diamonds_ , so her opinion is moot. Instead of arguing with the glittering woman inside her head, Sumire turns her attention to the gently-looking boy, and her eyes shoot open. He's hoisting up two bags at a time and just walking down the stairs. Struggling to keep up with him, Sumire scrabbles to pick up her own bag and follow him down. 

"Thank you for helping me," She says, trying to catch her breath. 

The boy nods politely, giving her a smile that looks like watered-down paint, muted and faint. "Actually, thank you for helping me. Initially, I meant to take these down to the bed myself, but it seems Kawakami had different ideas."

Then, pulling an intricately crafted pocket watch from his pocket, the boy sighs as he checks the face of the clock. It's iridescent, carved with mother-of-pearl, and gold roman numerals adorn the circumference. Trying to ignore Jeanne's impassioned pleas to steal it, Sumire dusts her hands free of dirt over the empty flowerbed. Brushing his hair out of his face, he smiles up at her once more in a show of manners. 

"Well, this was very nice of you. Good luck at the rally tomorrow." The dark-haired boy states, turning on his heel to enter the building once more. 

With the bags of dirt stacked up by the flowerbeds, Sumire has nothing to do but watch him leave, the faint ticking of a clock fading away as he goes. He's odd, she thinks, but nice enough. He also seems to not know that she has a criminal record, which feels like a breath of fresh air compared to the rest of the school. Sighing, Sumire takes a seat on the front steps of Shujin, leaning her face on her hand as she waits for Goro. With all this time to think, Sumire can't help but wonder how exactly they got into the other world. Absentmindedly flipping through her phone, her thumbs comes to hover over the red app with the eye, and she sits up. As it opens, it shows her some kind of search history, with the words "castle, Kamoshida, and Shujin" listed under a column labeled "keywords." 

"This is..." She trails off, staring at the red screen. Above the table with the keywords, the name of the app leers up at her. "'Metaverse Navigator,' huh?" 

Goro pokes his face over her shoulder, startling the shorter girl. "This was we used to get in there?" 

"When did you get here?" She all but shrieks, her heart hammering in her chest in fear. 

Tucking a strand of hair behind his ear, Goro looks back at the door, seeing the flash of purple that floated around the corner. "Just after that, um... Do you know him?" 

Sumire blinks. "Know who?" 

His eyes still stuck on the corridor, Goro vaguely gestures around his face and shoulders. "That guy with the... With the eyes."

It's now that Sumire realizes that her friend's face is painted a deep shade of red, his ears burning through his long hair. Snickering, Sumire elbows him in the side gently, nodding after the closed doors. 

"I don't." She admits. "But I take it you do?" 

Whipping his head around, Goro glares at her with the fury of a thousand suns. "Don't you even _start?_ " 

Smugly, Sumire shifts her weight from one foot to the other, crossing her arms over her chest. "What's his name?" 

Goro turns away like a pissed-off cat, sticking his nose in the air. "I'm not telling you. Just turn the fucking app on, you little shit." 

He says it fondly, but Sumire steps on his foot anyway, giggling as she presses the Navigate button. 

Elsewhere, Sakura Sojiro descends down the steps of the SIU building, slicking his hair back. As he retracts his hand, his hair falls back into place, brushing just over his eyebrows. It has been a long day of paperwork, vending machine coffee, and interns trying to get in his good graces. Behind him, the beloved Detective Princess checks her watch, her heels clicking on the marble. 

"Well, Sojiro-san," She chirps, "it seems we have some work to do, hm?" 

He sighs. "Seems so, indeed. I'd like your insights on it, Kato-chan." 

Kato Haru smiles charmingly, brushing her curly brown hair out of her face. "I'd be happy to help, Sojiro-san. After all, you always treat me to the best afternoon tea, don't you?" 

The older man rolls his eyes, checking his watch for the time. Waiting expectantly, Kato fiddles with her briefcase, the cursive, gold "K" embossed on the smooth leather shining brightly. She's dressed neatly, with a dark grey peacoat and a light pink cardigan underneath it, falling just below the waistband of her pleated skirt. Her sheer black stockings are without rips or stains, and her heeled loafers are unscuffed and polished. 

"I'm fairly certain that wasn't a request, Kato-chan," Sojiro mutters, bringing his hand underneath his chin to fiddle with his beard. "But I'll bite. I know a good place." 

Kato grins, clapping her hands together over the handle of her briefcase. "You're a _saint_ , Sojiro-san. I'll be sure to tell that to the SIU director." 

Sojiro makes a face, pushing on the revolving door. "Why'd you have to mention him? I didn't even know you worked with him personally."

Kato brushes something off of her shoulder, squinting at it in the light. "I _don't_. He mistook me for his secretary and made me bring him coffee, once." 

Unable to help himself, Sojiro snorts. "What was your revenge?"

"Salt instead of sugar." The teenager says brightly, her dark violet eyes narrowing in satisfaction. "There's a stain on his desk where he spat it out." 

They walk to the train station, the cold spring air pinching their cheeks and clouding their breath in the air. Just as Sojiro is about to swipe his travel card and take Kato to the café, his phone buzzes in his pocket, and he curses under his breath. 

"Shit, Kato-chan, I'm afraid I'll have to cancel on you." He says, turning to walk over to the Ginza line, "My girlfriend's son is cooking tonight. I can't bail on them again." 

Kato casually waves her hand, smiling softly. "Don't trouble yourself, Sojiro-san. Tell Aimi I said hello." 

As he swipes his travel card on the reader to the line going in the opposite direction, Sojiro nods, tipping his hat politely. "Have a good evening, Kato-chan." 

The teen detective laughs, tilting her head to the side. "You as well. Bye, now!" 

As the fluffy-haired girl disappears into the crowd, Sojiro can't help but frown. Kato works herself to the bone, and to do so while maintaining a healthy school life, as well as an entertaining persona as an idol detective, just makes him worry. While he doesn't technically have children, she tends to pull at his paternal heartstrings. Yes, Sojiro knows how much Kato hates to be treated like a child and especially dislikes any mention of any father figure related to herself in the slightest, but the girl doesn't take care of herself. What is he supposed to do? Encourage early burnout? 

The man sighs, taking off his hat as he squishes into the train carriage, wondering what Aimi's kid would be cooking tonight.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Goro opens his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Suicide Mention, Child Abuse Mention, Sexual Harrassment, Violence, Blood, Death, Car Accidents.
> 
> this goes into some detail about Akechi's relationship with his father, so please be aware that it might contain some sensitive content.

" _Sumire_!" Goro yells, his voice ragged and hoarse from all of his screaming. 

In front of him, held by the throat, Sumire struggles weakly against the arm of Kamoshida, his yellow eyes glinting with malice. As she struggles and gasps for air, Sumire calls out weakly to him. 

"Goro, run!" She chokes out, tears filling her eyes. 

Goro stares at her, then at the door, and finally at the limp body of the giant fox on the floor, panting heavily. To run would be a betrayal. To run would be further proof that he is _exactly_ like his father. So instead of sprinting for the doors of the castle, the brown-haired boy charges forward, lunging for Kamoshida. It's useless, though, because a knight decked out in gold-plated armor cuts him down before he can make it two steps forward. The hilt of the greatsword gets him in the ribs, and he falls to the floor, gasping as the old injury in his chest throbs in pain. Staring up at his friend as she claws weakly at that disgusting bastard's hands, Goro tries to catch his breath. With his vision fading, he knows how easy it would be to give in. All of the pain, all of the suffering, all of it would be gone. 

Just give in, a tiny voice in the back of his head tells him, your fate is sealed. As he coughs, feeling something rattle in his ribcage. He is a self-fulfilling prophecy. His stupid, deadbeat father's blood runs thick in his veins, so there isn't anything he can do. 

"Lies..." 

Goro's eyes shoot open, and suddenly he's writhing around on the floor, the most intense pain he has ever felt beating at the surface of his skull. Gripping his temples, he thrashes from side to side, screaming in agony. 

"You lie, boy..." 

The voice sounds again, sweet and crooning for such cruel words. Goro tries to reply, but his mouth has forgotten how language works as he's wracked with wave after wave of pain. He wants to scream, he wants to _die_ but was his hands rake over his face, his bandaged fingertips meet a cool surface. Although there is a brief respite, enough to get him back onto his hands and knees, the pain comes back tenfold, this time hammering at his skin from the mask. 

"And lying?" The voice laughs, rumbling deep and rich like sweet wine. "Lying is the _Devil's_ work." 

Akechi Goro is not like his father. He understands now, and through the pain, he grits his teeth and exhales slowly, gripping either side of the mask. 

"Go on, boy. Fancy striking a deal?" 

Goro nods, growling in pain as he starts to pull. "I'm... All in. What's your price?" 

The voice purrs with satisfaction. "You know that already, don't you? Now, say my name, and let the Seven Circles of Hell come rushing to your fingertips!" 

With a final tug, he rips the mask off of his face, blood arcing through the air and sparkling like rubies. The very same blue fire that consumed Sumire now consumes him, drinking the pain from his body and licking the blood from his face. 

"Mephistopheles, make them pay!" He snarls, rising from the floor. 

To understand how Goro finds himself in this situation, it would require going back to a few hours earlier. Instead of going home, reading something, and eventually passing out while waiting for his mother to return home, Akechi Goro decided to take a little trip into his sports teacher's brain. You know, as you do. In retrospect, he really should have seen it coming. It was going far too smoothly, and when you're Goro, you understand that good things never last. But somehow, caught up in the fact that someone actually trusted him, that they found his company enjoyable, it slipped his mind. 

Sumire had opened the little app on her phone, and the world kind of melted? It was an experience similar to watching wax melt, dripping into water, and then solidifying again, but this time in a different shape. Although his head was spinning, Goro's body felt lighter and stronger, as if gravity was his to manipulate. He glanced over to his right, watching Sumire study her own outfit. He shoved his hands in his pockets, suddenly glad he doesn't get an impromptu clothing change. Where did the clothes go? What took them away? Many questions were swimming in his head, but honestly, it was better if they went unanswered. He was really at his limit, and the Shujin-Castle combo was really pushing it. 

"So, how are we gonna get in?" He asked, nodding to the door. "It's probably a bad idea to go in the front door." 

Sumire stared off into space, her dark eyes focusing and refocusing in irregular patterns. As he waved his hand in front of her face, Goro frowned. He wondered if that was just something Sumire did. Honestly, it wasn't a problem. Heck, Goro still had weird habits from... Unsavory memories. As if called, his faulty rib throbbed in pain, popping slightly out of place, and he lowered himself down to sit on a barrel behind the wall they appeared by. Slipping a hand underneath his blazer, he gingerly ran his hand over the bone that jutted out at a slightly odd angle compared to the rest of them. It never healed properly. Gritting his teeth, he tried to push it back into position, biting down hard on his tongue. With a painful click, it returned to its place by his other ribs. Sighing, Goro leaned forward, placing his head in his hands. What was he even thinking? He was dead weight for Sumire to be carrying around, even with the help of that weird fox-demon-kitsune thing. 

"Yusuke," He murmured, threading his fingers through his hair.

"Why yes, it is I." A low voice came from above him, followed by a small chuckle, and a flash of white and dark blue dropped in front of him. "I'm surprised you came back. It is brave of you to be here without a Persona." 

Goro blinked, sighing heavily. "A what?" 

Yusuke raised a paw to his nose, batting at it softly. "A Persona. The inner will of rebellion. They are what your redheaded friend and I draw power from, you see." 

He hummed in acknowledgment, leaning his head on his hand. "So these Personas, they're your power sources? Is that why Sumire can lift me up and do cool flips and shit?" 

Yusuke nodded, his ears pointing straight up in enthusiasm. "She is a powerful user, I can tell already. You, though..." 

The fox trailed off, studying the brown-haired boy with his ice-grey eyes. He sniffs the air around him and nods sagely. 

"You have potential." 

That was... Actually kind of nice of him? Yusuke didn't seem like the terribly self-aware type of fox (because yes, of course, Goro has met _innumerable_ talking foxes and can compare their varying personalities like a wine-taster can distinguish a Bordeaux from a Pinot Noir, obviously.) Goro certainly wasn't expecting him to be encouraging, though. Then again, he never really expected much from anyone. 

"Goro! Over here!" Sumire called from the castle wall, pointing to a shattered window. "I found a way in." 

Running over on his long back legs, Yusuke immediately leaped through the broken window, his shozoku billowing out behind him. "Come! I'll be your guide." 

Seamlessly, Sumire flipped through the shattered window, landing gracefully on the windowsill. "Alright. Take us to the dungeons. This is his own cognitive world, but there are people in the real world that exist here as well, right?"

Taken aback, Yusuke's mouth hung open. "How - How did you know that?" 

"An old man with a long nose..." She said, trailing off as she stared into space again. Goro tugged on one of the long strips of red fabric attached to her corset. 

"Could you give me a hand up?" He asked, stretching his arm up to grasp her palm. 

She pulled him up with ease, patting him on the shoulder. "Sorry. We'll try to find more accessible entrances and exits for you." 

He bit his tongue to swallow the sharp tone begging to be let out, trying not to snap at his friend. It wasn't her fault he was useless. Pushing back all of the little voices feeding him poison to the back of his mind, Goro followed Sumire and Yusuke through the halls of Kamoshida's Palace, trying his best to keep up. As they flitted from room to room, the fox explained how the so-called Metaverse worked. Goro tuned some of it out, honestly. He didn't really need to know the ethics of tampering with a monster's brain. God, it even _smelled_ like him. The lingering stench of rubber, sweat, and mixed perfume made his stomach turn, far too strong for him to bear for long periods of time. 

"So all of these sports team kids," He mumbled, "they're all the ones getting hurt the most?"

Yusuke nodded, eyeing the way Goro's knuckled cracked when he gripped the bars of the cells in Kamoshida's "Training Hall." Goro growled with fury, kicking a crate forcefully. The only thing that stopped him from destroying the cells themselves was the gentle hand of Sumire on his forearm. Looking down at her, he had almost forgotten how small she was compared to him. 

"Sorry," He muttered, reaching up to tie his hair out of his face. 

She had changed a lot since she first met him, he thought. Instead of shying away from him and looking up at him with fearful, doe-like eyes, she met his sharp gaze with calm, determined acknowledgment. 

She shook her head. "You shouldn't be. _He_ should." 

And she was right. Goro wasn't sorry, and he never would be. Not for Kamoshida, not for his behavior, and certainly not for his father. 

In general, Akechi Goro tried not to think about Akechi Subaru, a tall man with a sharp face and a hard right hook. He and his mother lived alone in their apartment, dreaming the days when Subaru would knock at their door, drunk and demanding money for his stupid gambling addiction, or make Sayaka take him back. Despite her fragile health and tendencies to overwork herself to the point of exhaustion, Goro thought that there wasn't a soul in the world who was more durable than his mother. To have survived through an abusive marriage, an unwanted pregnancy, and a suicide attempt, all of those things made her the strongest person that Goro has ever and will ever know. Despite this, she was physically made of glass. He knew that one beating from Subaru would hurt her permanently, possibly even kill her if it got too out of hand, so Goro always stepped in front of her. If all he needed to do to show how badly he wanted to protect her was take a few hits, then that was just what he did. 

A sudden scream brought him out of his thoughts, and he glanced up, snapping to attention. Sumire stood alone, circled by Kamoshida's knights. Yusuke summoned his own Persona, a tall man with flowing white hair and a grey-blue kimono with a silver viper motive curling around the obi. Sandayu peered out from underneath his fringe, ice-blue eyes flashing as he drew his sword, arcing it through the air in time with the fox's movements. Shards of ice materialized into the air and flying towards the crowd of knights at a speed so quick, Goro could have blinked and missed the whole thing. 

And there he was, hiding behind a pillar, like the useless fucking coward he was. His mother would be so disappointed in him. 

"Fuck, come on, you've got this." He muttered to himself, quickly binding his fists with the gauze wrapped around his wrists for that exact purpose. "Save Sumire, and your debt is paid. You owe it to her to at least _try_." 

Taking a deep breath, Goro lunged out from behind the pillar, charging at the knight in golden armor as he swung his polearm at his friend. Bracing his arms above his head, he skidded to a halt in front of her, blocking the blow. The collision sent his teeth rattling, but he stood his ground, aiming a kick to the knight's knee. 

"What are you doing?" Sumire asked, getting to her feet and running a Shadow through with her sword. "Goro, go back! It's too dangerous." 

He shook his head, grunting as he knocked a Shadow upside the head. " _No_. I don't want to be useless!" 

Pausing to give him a look of sympathy, the redhead nodded, then stood with her back facing his, her hand flying to her mask. The syllables of Jeanne's name were almost off of her tongue when a voice echoed through the front hall, the clash of steel and grunts of pain stopping immediately. 

"Cease your fighting, petty thieves." Shadow Kamoshida said, his cloak glittering in the candlelight. "I don't want you to scare the _kitten_." 

"That's... An odd statement," Sumire wondered aloud. ''What does he mean by 'kitten?'"

Goro groaned. "Oh, no." 

He recognized that nickname. Anyone who went to Shujin would recognize the pet name Kamoshida used for his favorite student. Dread fell into his stomach like a rock plunging into deep water, and he glanced back over at Sumire, whose face had been drained of all color as her eyes fixated on a figure by Kamoshida's side. Jesus, the sight itself made him want to be sick. 

There, draped over his arm like an accessory, was Isshiki Futaba, decked out in a fuzzy bikini and chunky cat paws, with a studded collar around her neck. On the heart-shaped tag, her name was spelled out in rhinestones, sparkling cheaply in the light of the chandeliers. 

"Isshiki?" Sumire called out, her brown furrowed in concern. "What is she doing here? Why is she wearing that?" 

Seemingly trying to calm down the younger girl, Yusuke called out to her from across the room. "She's not real, Sumire! That's just how Kamoshida views your friend." 

"Silence, abomination!" Kamoshida cried, drawing a line across his throat as he grimaced at the knight in gold. "By royal decree, I now announce that your execution has started." 

Isshiki purred, wrapping her arms around Kamoshida's neck as his hand slipped lower than her back. "Mm, it's always so fun when you let me watch the garbage get taken out!" 

Gauntleted hands grabbed at him from all over, bringing Goro to his knees as a knight armed with a newly polished ax paraded in front of them like a cockatiel, the feathers on his helmet bouncing as he walked. If he wasn't about to die, then maybe he would find it funny. No, wait, he _did_. He snorted with laughter, but as soon as the noise left his mouth, he regretted it. The golden knight whipped around to face him, then slowly turned to Sumire, who was kneeling limply next to him. Before he could say anything, Kamoshida bent down and grabbed her by the neck, abandoning his "kitten" to play with his "mouse," laughing as she kicked her legs out and clawed at his hands for air. 

And that brings him back to the present, where a horned figure stands behind him, arms stretched out openly in front of his wings. Mephistopheles' fiery red hair flows in an invisible wind, and the emeralds dripping from his ears and hands in the form of earrings and rings chime like bells. A rust-colored cape is haphazardly draped across his left shoulder, revealing a black military jacket adorned with gold embellishments. The lapels are sharp and angular, contrasting the billowing sleeves of Mephistopheles' black shirt. Goro outstretches his arm, finding that he's holding a chain whip with a barbed blade at the end. It's lighter than he expected it to be, but then again, maybe it's just because he's stronger. 

"Took me damn long enough," He growls, tossing it up in the air and catching the handle in his left hand. "I've never been patient or diligent. Fuck, I haven't been chaste or humble, either. But hey; what would _scum_ like you know about _virtue_ anyway?" 

Lashing the whip out, it rakes across the marble staircase, drawing sparks as it slices through the stone. Kamoshida ducks, clicking his tongue as some of his knights fall. As he drops Sumire to the floor, his eyes glow a brighter shade of saffron, his lips curling into a sneer. Goro doesn't even give him the chance to speak. 

"I'm taking justice into my own hands, shitbag." He steps on the chain of the whip, angling it down to sail through the air, directly slashing a wide cut across Kamoshida's chest. "And I'll be damned if I don't make your life _Hell_ as punishment." 

Yusuke stares in wonder, his tail wagging happily. "There! The potential I was talking about. _Magnificent_ , truly." 

As Kamoshida staggers backward, tar-black blood seeping from his wound, Goro retracts his whip, helping Sumire get to her feet. She falters, clinging to the sleeve of his long, brown overcoat. "I-I can't walk." 

A clattering of metal comes from behind them, and the pair turn around to see the knights surrounding them once more, their weapons at the ready. Cursing, Goro does the first thing that comes to his mind. Hoising Sumire up onto his back, he sprints over to Yusuke, tucking him underneath his arm as he runs for the exit, Mephistopheles vanishing with a flash of blue fire. As soon as they round the corner, hiding behind the grey stone wall where they entered and exited the Metaverse, Goro sets them both down, a heavy exhaustion setting into his bones. 

"Goro, that," Sumire pants, "was amazing! Do you take Drama? You should take Drama." 

He frowns. "No."

Piping up from where he's slumped against the wall, Yusuke raises a paw. "Did I not tell you that you had potential? That, my companion, was a fine display of power." 

Goro sighs, looking down at himself. It seems he isn't exempt from the costume change after all. Instead of the Shujin uniform (which is a bit of a costume in its own right), he's wearing a long, heavy overcoat with wide cuffs. Although he'll never admit it, the worn linen shirt is comfortable allows enough mobility for him to be agile, even if it's rather voluminous. What he has a real problem with, though, are the boots. They reach above his knees, and frankly, he's not sure how practical they are. 

"Oh, you'll be fine," Sumire assures him after he voices his many complaints. "And, if it makes you feel any better, I think you look cool! The long coat, thick belt, weird pirate shirt combo is a good look!" 

Frowning, Goro can't believe that his friend would betray him like this. "There are so many buckles! And the mask is pointy." 

Yusuke nods but cocks his head to the side to examine him more thoroughly. "Actually, the horns respond pleasantly to your aesthetic. Personally, I do believe that your phantom thief outfit is fitting. You look like a devastatingly charming highwayman." 

"What if I don't want to look like a 'devastatingly charming highwayman?'" He groans. "What if I just want to wear jeans and a sweatshirt?" 

Instead of giving him a proper answer, Sumire switches the Nav on and takes them home, waving goodbye to Yusuke as they go. He doesn't have the heart to tell them that the outfit if probably inspired by his one, true love, Indiana Jones. You know, maybe it's better that way. 

"D'you ever wonder where he actually goes when we leave?" Goro asks, taking a large bite of rice from his beef bowl. 

Sumire hesitantly takes a much smaller bite, raising an eyebrow. "Who? Yusuke?" 

The brown-haired boy nods, pushing his hair to one side as he takes another bite. "Yeah. Like, does he actually exist in our world, or is he a part of Kamoshida's Palace that became sentient?" 

Sumire mulls it over, tapping her chopsticks on the side of her bowl. "I think he belongs to somewhere else entirely." 

After a beat of silence, Goro puts his utensils down, swallowing his food and leaning on the bar. "So, about your criminal record: what _actually_ happened? You're not the type to go batshit crazy and assault someone." 

Fidgeting with her hands, the redheaded girl stares at the wood grains on the polished counter. "It's a long story, and it's not that entertaining." 

"We have time," Goro replies. 

Sighing, Sumire looks up at her friend, tucking her hair behind her ears. "I used to have a twin sister. Her name was Kasumi. She was just... So much better than I was at practically everything. She was the prettier twin, the smarter twin, the more successful twin. We had this dream to go to the championships of the gymnastics tournament this year. We'd trained since we were tiny, and there wasn't anything else that we could do at roughly the same level. 

"Anyway, my sister and I were walking home from practice one night. The buses weren't working or something. Kasumi crosses the street, walking backward and trying to cheer me up after I ate shit during my routine. Then this car comes along, going way over the speed limit, and I run to Kasumi to push her out of the way or something, but it's just too _fast._

"The man in the car, the driver, I mean, was drunk. Like, passing-out-at-the-wheel drunk. He... He hit both of us. I made it out with him, and once I realized Kasumi was... Well, I started yelling at him. Telling him that it was his fault, that he killed her, and then he called the police, saying I had jumped out in front of the car with my sister and beaten the man up after the car swerved to avoid us." 

As she finishes the story, she removes her eyes from where they're transfixed to the countertop. Next to her, Goro's face is more pained than she's ever seen it, and before she can ask him what's wrong, he gently pulls her into a hug. Surprisingly, Goro is a really good hugger, as it turns out. As he softly pats her head, she finds herself sobbing into his shoulder, her tears dampening his black turtleneck. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, in this canon, shido is not akechi's dad. there is no relation between the two. i am making that clear now just in case we get any mix-ups :)))


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kamoshida makes his move.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEAVY CONTENT WARNING: Violence, Injury, Implied Sexual Assault, Sexual Harassment, Needles.
> 
> this chapter deals with kamoshitty himself, and a lot of what he does can be very triggering, so please read with caution!!

Looking back on it now, maybe following the sound of sobbing into the girls' bathroom wasn't the most well-thought-out plan Sumire's had. The volleyball meet is Hell, sure, but probably not enough to provoke crying alone in a stall. Tentatively, Sumire takes a step forward, knocking on the door. Very briefly, the person hiccups, going silent. 

"W-Who's there?" They ask, their voice sounding nasally from all of their crying. 

Crossing her arms over her chest, Sumire clears her throat. "Are you alright?" 

A pointed sniff comes from the other side of the stall door. "... Will you go away if I say yes?" 

Sighing, Sumire knocks on the door, and it swings open at her touch. With her knees held up underneath her chin and her arms wrapped around her shins, a girl with long, dark hair in two braids sits, sniffling. Red-rimmed and bleary from crying, the girl looks up at the redhead with a mix of surprise and resignation. 

"You're the transfer student, aren't you?" She asks, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. Sumire nods, fidgeting with the ribbon in her hair. "Don't worry. I'm not going to spread a rumor about you or something." 

As Sumire comes closer, she sees a hands-shaped bruise wrapped around the girl's thigh, dark purple and yellow mixing together to form an ugly shade of beige. She doesn't need to ask to know what happened. 

"Who did this to you?" Sumire inquires gently. 

Narrowing her eyes, the girl frowns. "Do you really need to ask? Besides, there is nothing I want to do about it." 

Sumire inhales sharply through her teeth, her hands falling from where she was fiddling with her hair. "He's hurting you. He's hurting _everyone_." 

"I know!" The girl yells. "But if he's hurting me, he's leaving _her_ alone!" 

Before Sumire can ask who the girl is talking about, the bathroom door opens, and in walks Isshiki, a concerned look on her face. She locks eyes with the crying girl and immediately pushes past Sumire to get to her, hugging her tightly. 

" _Kana_ , there you are. I was so worried, I thought you were -" She starts, but her voice cuts off as tears well in her eyes, seeing the handprints underneath her red shorts. 

"Well, this is awkward." Jeanne muses, fluttering her fan. 

Rolling her eyes, Sumire mentally tells her to shut up. But her Persona has a good point. No longer welcome, Sumire slips out of the bathroom, shutting the door behind her. The red tracksuit she's wearing just avoids getting caught in the hinges of the door by a mere centimeter, and she stops to run her fingers over the material to make sure it's without rips. Although her pants are unripped, Sumire stops, her ears catching the faint sound of a heated argument coming from the student council room. Slowly, to avoid getting caught, Sumire leans by the door, straining her ears to pick up the rest of the conversation. 

"... Can't necessarily do anything about it. Not only is he an important part of Shujin's sports status, but most of our revenue -" One voice mutters, hushed and forced. 

Another voice interrupts it, and Sumire recognizes it as Sakamoto-senpai's voice almost immediately. "What are you talking about? If the students are feeling unsafe, I don't know why we're not firing him!" 

"' _We_?' Sakamoto, know your place. You may be the Council President, but if you even _dare_ to pretend to have jurisdiction over staff matters, I will not hesitate to take all of my references off of your application." 

"Sir, there are students at _risk_ -"

Sumire jumps as someone inside the council room slams their hand down on a hard surface. Almost immediately, Sakamoto goes quiet. When she angles her head around to peer inside, she can see the dark-haired boy go stiff in fear, his face pale. The man sitting at the desk in front of him, the Principal, doesn't even look angry enough to be hitting things. 

"Sakamoto," He says, tone even and controlled, "you are my ears and my eyes. I trust you enough to tell me information that is vital to the school."

Sakamoto's brow furrows. "Sir, you have hired someone who is _hurting_ your student body. I don't see anything more 'vital' than that."

Professionally, without even his face contorting, the Principal slams his hand on his desk again, sending Sakamoto into a spell of silent fear. His dark eyes go wide, and his hands start to shake from where they're clasped behind his back. 

"Don't bring this up again, Sakamoto-kun. You're dismissed." He states, and returns to his paperwork. 

Scrabbling to stay out of sight, Sumire hurls herself behind the corner, pressing her back flat against the wall as Sakamoto comes out, visibly shaken from his encounter. 

"What a nasty little weasel that Kobayakawa is," Jeanne hisses, porcelain blue eyes narrowing. "Someone ought to teach him a _l_ _esson_." 

Grimly, Sumire stepped out of the shadows, making her way back to the gym. 

Goro groans, knocking his head back against the wall as Kamoshida laughs loudly, a volleyball at his hip. "This is fucking intolerable." 

Twirling a strand of hair around her finger, Sumire makes a quieter noise of disapproval. "It really is." 

"Aren't you an athlete?" He asks, sitting up. 

Sumire shrugs. "Depends. Sometimes I'm a gymnast, and sometimes I'm a _worm_ flailing around on a mat." 

"Fair enough," Goro replies, leaning back against the wall. 

Stretching her legs out in front of her, Sumire sits with her back to the wall, watching her classmates take turns to narrowly avoid getting hit with projectiles shot by their gym teacher. Every time Kamoshida winds his arm up to spike the ball, students freeze in fear. It's only when a girl is standing in front of her, waving her hand in Sumire's face, that the redhead hears her name being called. 

"Hey! Are you even listening?" She says, frowning down at her. "It's your go. You better not mess it up." 

Sighing, Sumire nods, walking onto the court to join the team playing. Skirts rustling in her mind, Jeanne peers over the top of her diamond fan. Sumire squares her stance, leaning low to the ground, and watches Kamoshida toss the ball to the other assistant gym teacher. He sets it nicely enough that Kamoshida grins, leaping into the air with expert technique. 

Out of nowhere, Sumire blinks, and everything goes quiet. Tinged with a rosy haze, everyone in the gym moves in slow motion, scattering to avoid the incoming onslaught from Kamoshida's spike. The ball sails through the air at a leisurely pace, but Sumire can move just fine. Jeanne gently nudges her towards the ball, indicating for her to toss it back with a generic receive. Shrugging, Sumire leans towards it, tapping it gently with her forearms. 

And just like that, time moves again, the air no longer stained pink. Watching with wide eyes, Sumire sees the ball sail over the net, hitting the floor with a dull thud. The gym falls quiet, mutters and whispers filling the air. Brow furrowed, Kamoshida glares at Sumire incredulously, then catches the volleyball thrown back at him. As he readies himself to serve it over the net, the redheaded girl focuses hard on imagining the visual of an eye opening in the dark. 

The world goes pink again, and Sumire leaps up in confidence, grinning as she taps the ball over the net. As the rosiness fades, the ball's speed increases, and it hits the floor with a satisfying slap. Goro snickers from the sidelines, whooping as Kamoshida stares at her, a vein popping in his forehead. The gym doors open, and Isshiki and her dark-haired friend walk in. Distracted, Sumire doesn't see the ball coming straight for her face, knocking her backward and forcing her to the floor. Instantly, Kamoshida's ducking underneath the net, helping her up and checking her for any bruises. Fucking liar. She squirms away from his touch, wiping her hand across her nose. Scarlet blood smears across her hand, dripping onto the gym floor. 

"Oh, my goodness!" The dark-haired girl, Kana, calls out, "Your nose -" 

Sumire coughs, cupping the blood in her hands. "I'm fine. I can go to the nurse's office." 

A slow, smug smile spreads across Kamoshida's face. "I can take you, Yoshizawa. Consider it compensation." 

"Compensation for whom?" Jeanne mutters, her hair whipping around her face like rearing snakes. 

Silently pleading for Kana to offer to take her instead, Sumire can feel her hands start to shake as Kamoshida slips an arm underneath her shoulders, leading her out of the gym. In an attempt to stop him, Goro stands up, striding over to the burly man with a sharp look in his eye. 

"Sensei, I can take her. You wouldn't want to keep the game stalled, now, would you?" He offers, but the way he bares his teeth means it's a threat. 

Unruffled, Kamoshida pats him firmly on the shoulder. "We can't really _trust_ you with her if you catch my drift. Nothing personal, kid. Why don't you go show us those setting skills you have? I'm sure your volleyball skills have just been sleeping after all this time." 

Before he can answer, Kamoshida is brushing past him, his hand uncomfortably warm at Sumire's ribs. Dread flood her stomach like water through the pierced hull of a ship, and the taste of blood in Sumire's mouth was far too much to handle. As soon as the sports hall's door closes behind them, Kamoshida's grip moves to her arm, holding her far too tightly. They swerve away from the infirmary, and instead, they barrel into Kamoshida's office, the door slamming so hard, it shakes the floor. Kamoshida hurls her against the shelves, his face alight with fury. Blood smeared across her face, Sumire stares up at him in fear, panting. How did she not see this coming? She curses as he runs his hands through his hair in anger, bearing his teeth like a feral animal.

"You bitch!" He hisses, shaking her roughly by the shoulders. "You think you can just waltz in here and humiliate me in front of everyone? You're nothing but a dumb, cocky piece of ass! You should know your fucking place." 

She's not sure why she does it. Maybe it's Jeanne. Perhaps she gets so sick of people yelling at her, talking down at her, and treating her like _shit_. Glaring up at the man fiercely, Sumire spits in his face, her own blood splattering across the bridge of his nose. A moment of dreadful silence passes, and almost instantly, she finds herself being thrown against the desk, Kamoshida leaning over her with a stapler held in his hand. Having a stapler press little metal clasps into one's skin hurts more than one would expect. She should be screaming, but she can't make herself force a sound out of her throat. With his hands around her throat, he draws his arm back, and Sumire struggles against him pitifully, realizing his resolve stretches to keeping her silent to the grave. Jeanne is screaming in her mind, distraught as the scene plays out in their heads. Either she gets killed here, or _worse_. She doesn't want to think about it. As her vision starts to cut out, Sumire faintly hears the sound of footsteps in the corridor, and the door slams open. 

"Sumire!" Goro exclaims, then turns his gaze to Kamoshida, whose mouth hangs open in shock. "You _sick_ bastard!" 

As the brown-haired boy lunges for him, Isshiki skids through the door, her friend hot on her trail. Kamoshida is thrown from off of her, wrestling with Goro on the floor. As the stapler is knocked from his hands, Kana bends down and grabs it, while Isshiki rushes to Sumire's side, bringing her out of the office. 

"Oh my God," She mutters, running her hands lightly over Sumire's bruised neck and blood-smeared face. "Oh my God, what are we going to do?" 

Leaning her full weight against the wall, Sumire sighs shakily, wincing as she does so. She tries to speak, but the pain in her throat is unbearable, so she just stares at Isshiki, tears welling in her eyes. 

"Get off of me, brat!" Kamoshida yells from inside, and the two turn to see Goro on the floor, the cut on above his eyebrow reopened, and Kamoshida gripping Kana by the wrist. 

She stares at him with wide eyes, and he pulls her close to whisper something in her ear that no one else can hear. As her eyes go wide and her breathing goes ragged, she turns to look at Isshiki, tears spilling down her face. Grabbing her by the chin, he forces her to listen to the other whispers he pours into her ears. What he doesn't see is Goro getting to his feet and pulling his phone out. Shaking her head silently, Sumire tries to get his attention as she spots the man take the stapler from Kana's hand. 

The flash goes off when Goro takes the picture. A look of sheer panic crosses his face as Kamoshida turns to look at him, Sumire's blood still flecked across his face. Kana wrenches free, sprinting towards Isshiki and clinging to her in fear. Blood still dripping from her chin, Sumire struggles to make her way over to her friend, leaning against any surface she can get a grip on. The world spins beneath her feet, little dots clouding her vision. 

"All of you," Kamoshida mutters, "are going to fucking _pay_. You're all expelled." 

Goro shakes his head, gripping his phone tightly as the dark-haired man grabs his wrist. "You can't do that. You can't do -" 

A sudden jab into his chest renders the older boy immobile, and he sinks to his knees, clutching at his ribs as he gasps in pain. Kamoshida deletes the photo, dropping the device at his feet. 

"Yes, actually. I can." He replies, his mouth set in a nasty snarl.

Isshiki glares at Kamoshida, her arms protectively around her friend. "You went back on our deal." 

"Deal?" Kana echoes, whipping her head back and forth between the two. "What deal?"

Clicking his tongue condescendingly, Kamoshida walks towards her, taking her chin in his hand and digging his fingers into her cheeks. "You didn't give me what I wanted. You're a little tease, aren't you?" 

"Futaba?" Kana says again, frozen in fear. 

"You promised you wouldn't touch her." The ginger-haired girl says again, staring defiantly into the man's eyes. "You _promised_ you wouldn't." 

He lets go, turning back to his deck and pulling the chair out. "And you said you would give me what I wanted. The deal was broken, so I don't see the problem." 

Sumire watches on helplessly, the blood hot on her face and in her mouth. Next to her, Goro wheezes, glaring daggers at Kamoshida's back. Kana shakes her head, stepping forward. 

"We had a deal, too!" She cries. "If I kept staying behind after school for practice, you said you'd leave Futaba alone, but you _didn't_ , did you?" 

"Get out. All of you, get out." He states simply, his hand hovering on the office phone. "You don't want me to call the principal in here, do you?" 

Doctor Takemi's eyes widen when Isshiki drags Sumire into her clinic, Goro loitering behind with a sullen look on his face. They all shared a taxi back to Yongen, sneaking around the back-alleys to avoid being seen. They probably would have been stopped if they took the train, so Isshiki covered the price for them after proclaiming she had just done a high-paying shoot. Getting to her feet and snapping on her elastic gloves, she pushes her hair out of her face, helping Isshiki move Sumire onto the bed. 

" _Shit_ , kid, what the hell did you do?" She mutters, her hands moving to peel off her sports shirt. 

Glaring at Goro standing in the doorway, she motions for him to go away, flapping her hand at him. Goro spins on his heel, shoving his hands in his pockets and pretending like his rib hasn't been broken for the second time. Isshiki moves to leave as well, but Doctor Takemi shakes her head. 

"You go wash your hands and find a pair of gloves. I'll need your help." She says, snapping a face mask over her mouth and nose. 

Whimpering in pain as Takemi presses her fingers around the wounds in her arms, she turns her head to the side, not wanting to look at them. Her nose had long since stopped bleeding, but the blood-encrusted on her face came off onto the examining table. Snapping her fingers, the doctor made Isshiki hand her a pair of medical scissors with no points, just flat ends. She places them down on a metal tray, switching on the overhead lamp and shining it down on the bruise around Sumire's neck. 

"God, that's ugly. Above-average male hand size, too. This wasn't your friend out in the hallway, was it?" 

The ginger-haired girl shakes her head. " _No_! Go-chan would never." 

The doctor hums noncommittally, reaching behind her for a large vial of clear slime. "Yoshizawa-chan, this is a special ointment I made. It's going to clot the blood around the wounds to stop unnecessary blood loss, alright?" 

Isshiki frowns, her eyebrow quirking upward. "What would necessary blood loss look like?" 

"Leeches." Takemi deadpans. 

Sumire makes a rattling sound of pain as the doctor dabs the ointment on each of the seven staple wounds, her hands clenching into fists. Tentatively, Isshiki places her own over the redhead's, her thumb stroking lines gently across her knuckles. "It's going to be okay, Yoshizawa-chan. You're going to be okay." 

Silently, Takemi takes out a small syringe, pushing lightly on the plunger to makes sure it worked, then presses the needle into Sumire's arm. "I'm putting you underneath anesthetics now. You'll wake up in an hour." 

As her eyelids started to droop, Sumire stares up at the lightbulb in the lamp leaning overhead, wondering if Goro's rib was alright. The mental image of Jeanne stroking her hair as she passes out materializes in her mind, and she sighs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :((


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sumire heals. But she doesn't, really.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Past Injury, Mentions of Eating Disorders, Mentions of Self-Harm, Mentioned Suicide Attempt.

"Look, I'm just saying that maybe he deserves it." Goro's voice calls from the attic. 

"Go-chan, I don't think -" Isshiki's starts. 

Goro interjects, and the sound of a chair screeching across the attic floor reverberates in the café below. "Don't call me that! After what he did to Sumire, he has to _pay_." 

Another lower voice sounds as well. "Surely you understand the consequences of a mental shutdown and death are two very different things? A shutdown can be _worse_ than death." 

Sumire's hands are heavy as she accepts the mug from Sae-san, blinking slowly as the steam rises into her face. Her contacts were taken out before the impromptu surgery performed on her arms by Takemi, and the soft bandage around her neck is almost comforting if it wasn't hiding a purple handprint around her throat. Sae-san sits across from her, a worried look in her eyes. 

"Are you alright?" She asks finally, but something in her voice tells Sumire that she already knows the answers.

"Are you talking about the handprint," Sumire starts, her voice scratchy, "or the scars?" 

Her guardian tenses up at the shoulders. With a sigh, her own hands fidget around her mug, purple nails shining like wet stones. "I'm on the fence about whether or not Tae should have told me." 

She shrugs, gazing down numbly at the hot chocolate. "It doesn't matter now. She already told you." 

"Sumire-chan, I just want you to know that while my job is to also make sure you're staying out of trouble, I'm also here to make sure you're not _in_ trouble, you understand?" Sae says, her brow furrowed. "I notice you skip meals a lot, and I've barely seen you in short sleeves. Just let me know if I can help you in any way." 

Staring into the woman's eyes, the redhead stands up, bringing her mug with her. "It hurts to speak." 

Without another word, Sumire climbs up the stairs, the sound of arguing growing louder. The light is on in her room, and Goro leans against the wall, his arms crossed defensively over his chest. Turned away from him, Isshiki sits on the couch, staring at her hands folded in her lap. As the stairs creak, they both look up, worry and relief clouding their eyes at the same time.

"Yoshizawa-chan, I'm so glad you're okay!" Isshiki says, throwing her arms around the redheaded girl, nearly spilling her hot chocolate onto the floor. 

Goro tugs the ginger-haired girl away by the hood, glaring at her. "Give her some space, Futaba. She's probably not going to want anyone touching her like that right now." 

She deflates but nods in understanding, stepping to the side to reveal an odd-looking dog on her sofa. "Goro was just introducing me to Yusuke. He's a pretty... dog!" 

Yusuke makes a face of disdain. She's a little surprised at how easily his face contorts into such vibrant expressions. "... Woof." 

Sumire's eyes are wide as they drift to the white and dark-blue fox on her sofa, then to Goro, who grins with nothing behind the eyes.

"Futaba, she knows."

Isshiki's mouth forms a perfect circle, and she pats Yusuke on the head apologetically. "Sorry, buddy. I didn't know Yoshizawa-chan was part of this weird scheme." 

"It's not _weird_ ," Goro protests, "it's a revenge plan!" 

Sumire rubs the back of her neck as Isshiki smiles brightly at her. "So, you're Go-chan's partner in crime? You've been using that, erm, other world he told me about to explore Kamoshida's... What was it again? Pavillion?" 

Nodding, the redheaded girl sets her mug down and sits next to Yusuke on the sofa, burying her hand in his soft fur. He gently bows his head, nudging his nose against her arm in worry. 

"Did Kana get home safe?" She asks, her voice hoarse. 

A look of horror dawns on both of their faces, Goro's quickly melting into anger. He turns to look out the window, muttering curses underneath his breath. Slowly, Isshiki nods, her own hand coming to her throat. 

"Um, Yoshizawa-chan, it might be best for you to... Well, for you not to talk. We can discuss this all later. Besides, I have to be going home now." She looks to the floor, her hands twisting the hem of her skirt in discomfort. Sumire knows she feels guilty. Before she can say goodbye, Sumire watches the ginger-haired girl slip down the stairs, her boots thumping heavily on the café floor. Yusuke props his head on her shoulder, his wet nose brushing her cheek.

"Sumire, it may be best for me to stay here. Thankfully, I am not a needy kitsune, and any food you offer will surely be sufficient." He proclaims, his single tail wagging slowly in content as she strokes his fur. 

Goro sighs, turning back to face her. "Sumire, I told Futaba about the Metaverse. I don't think she fully believes me, but I think once we bring her in, her own Persona will be helpful to us." 

"Although I admire your tenacity, not everyone has the power to awaken to their inner desires and make them cooperate with their objectives," Yusuke says, turning his ice-grey eyes to the tall boy. "Bringing the spiky girl into the Metaverse could result in grievous bodily harm, death, or worse. For now, we need to avoid bringing other people into the other world unless we are sure they can handle the distortion." 

Nodding his head in disheartened agreement, Goro scuffs his shoes on the wooden floor, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. Swallowing to prepare herself for the pain of speaking, Sumire clears her throat. 

"How is your chest?" She croaks out. 

Goro shrugs again, glancing up at her. "'S'okay. Could be worse." 

"What happened?" She pushes herself to her limit, just to force two words out. 

She feels pathetic, wobbling around like a clown as her own body refuses to let her speak. There is no Jeanne in the back of her head, shining bright like stars behind her eyes, no rustling of red velvet, or the chiming of her crystal fan. Everything is empty and hollow, the painkillers wearing off to give her muted pan edging its way into her skin like a timid dog. All she can do is stare in sympathy as Goro perches on the arm of the sofa, his hand hovering over his ribs. 

"Back when I was an honor student, I was also on the volleyball team. I don't think I told you a lot about me before the incident." He frowns, but Sumire doesn't stop him. "Well, I was a little shit. Cocky, kind of a know-it-all, but Kamoshida _hated_ me. Thought I was too arrogant for some kid with a single mother, deadbeat father, and a full-time scholarship. 

"My mom, she's a nurse. She works late hours, and it really takes a toll on her. So do these visits she gets from my dad. She... She tried to kill herself last year. I was so tired of taking Kamoshida's shit, of other people following his orders, so I refused to make some poor girl go to his office after school. 

"Instead of her, he took it out on me. Messed up my chest real bad, then said it was in self-defense. You know, he claimed it was because violence ran in my blood." Goro looks to the side, clenching his jaw so tight that Sumire can see the muscles strain in his cheek. Tightening his knuckles until they're white, he turns back to look at her. "I don't regret doing what I did, not in the slightest. But he's going to pay, and I've found a way to do it." 

"He's talking about Treasure Heists," Yusuke explains, "and _I_ told him about it. It is the process of stealing the Palace owner's heart, their distorted core, and removing the diseased part from their inner psyche. Think of it as a type of surgery, if you will." 

Nodding, Sumire glances down at the fox, patting his fur softly. "What's the catch?" 

"The nature of heart-theft is volatile. If the extraction method is indelicate, the Palace owner could die. Otherwise, they go under what is known as a change of heart. Even in the state of repentance, they go under when their desires are stolen does not leave them safe." 

As the fox explains the whole thing, Goro is shifting uncomfortably, staring intently at the wall. Sumire glances up at him uncertainly, her vocal cords screaming in protest as she calls out his name.

"I want to go through with it. I don't care if Kamoshida dies. He nearly killed _you_ , and I think Kana and Futaba are still in danger." He growls, keeping his dark red eyes glued to the plaster, the fabric of his blazer wrinkling underneath his grip on his arm. 

From downstairs, the sound of heels clicks on the floor, then on the wooden stairs, the crown of Sae-san's head emerging on the landing. Wrapping her hand around the railing, she scowls at Goro. 

"You have another thirty minutes until the next train. Count yourself lucky I'm not throwing you out myself." She drones, drumming her heather-grey nails on the dresser. 

As her eyes fall to Yusuke sitting on the sofa, his face resting on Sumire's shoulder as she runs her hands over his dark-blue and white fur, and she looks as if she's about to burst a blood vessel. 

"Sumire-chan..." Sae-san starts, "where did you find that fox?" 

Goro steps in for her, hopping off the sofa and swooping his bag up over his shoulder. "That's Yusuke. He's not a wild fox, but he is a stray. Rather well-behaved, though." 

"I can hardly say the same for you, kid." The grey-haired woman glares at him, stepping to the side as he nears her. 

"Well, then," Goro grins sharply, "I guess _Yusuke's_ more welcome." 

The sparks of conflict flying from their eyes as Goro descends the stairs, pulling out his headphones and leaving the café are honestly far scarier than any threat of death or mental shutdown. On the topic of Kamoshida, even though Sumire would enjoy seeing him fall, the idea that someone's life would lie in her hands simply doesn't sit right with her. She knows how that might sound. Like she's shrugging off the blame for someone else to do it, or that she's simply doesn't want to talk about it, skirting around the topic like a startled crab. 

Sae-san gives her a cold, hard stare and walks over to Yusuke. Without another word, she places her hand in front of his face for him to sniff, and once he licks her knuckle gently, she pats him on the head. As he makes a happy noise, Yusuke's tail thumps against the sofa, and a small smile glows on Sae-san's face. 

"If he causes any trouble, you're both going back to Kyoto, alright?" She warns, sternly wagging her finger at both Sumire and the fox. " _You're_ going to feed him, not me." 

The redhead nods, scooping Yusuke up and placing him on the foot of her bed. He's surprisingly slinky and happily adjusts himself on her bed, nuzzling underneath the duvet and wriggling towards the pillow. Sae-san retreats back down the stairs after the few seconds of awkward silence they shared, leaving Sumire alone to get changed and get into bed. With Yusuke curled up in the crook of her legs, the redhead pulls the covers up to her chin, pretending that when she wakes up in the morning, she'll be fine. There won't be puncture wounds from metal clasps in her skin, and there won't be a handprint wrapped around her throat, and the thought of volleyball won't make her sick to her stomach. 

When she dreams, Sumire's dreams aren't vivid. They're kind of foggy, and they don't have a consistent or memorable plot. Hell, most of the time, they don't. She's never had issues sleeping. Not like Kasumi did. Although there wasn't ever a time where Kasumi would wake up screaming from a bad dream, there were constant nights where her sister would get up, pace around their room, gaze up at the moon, and then crawl into Sumire's bed, muttering something about a nightmare. Sumire never once called her sister out on the lie, not willing to hurt or inconvenience Kasumi with an argument, or worse, get in trouble with their mother for distracting her. Instead, Sumire always shuffled to the side, grabbing the two-foot-tall stuffed rabbit they shared and placing it between them so they could bury their faces in its soft fur. 

Kasumi had called the bunny Roix. It meant king, apparently. Sumire never really paid attention to the french lessons their mother forced on them, choosing instead to look out the window and daydream about having a real rabbit. It has always been her dream, which really says something about her ambition. Instead of requiring success, fame, or a handsome husband with three children, Sumire wants to move out of the city and have a hutch for a small, floppy-eared bunny. Or, maybe one of those robust rabbits with their thumping back feet and their perky ears. She will _never_ get a hare. Hares are rabbits on steroids, and three pounds of cocaine shot up the ass. Everyone knows that. 

No matter what or how she may have dreamed in the past, however, Sumire can't sleep tonight. Every time she closes her eyes, the leering face of Kamoshida hangs over her, the stapler reared back like a club. Her throat tightens painfully, and she whimpers. The painkillers have worn off, and everything is sore, but Sumire doesn't notice it. Combined with knowing that she made it out easy compared to Kana and Isshiki and the fact that she knows she won't be getting any sleep tonight just breaks her. She lets the tears flow freely again, her shoulders twitching as she wraps her arms around her knees and pulls them up to her chest. 

"Ma chére, oh, ma petite chére." Jeanna finally rasps, but she sounds just as broken as Sumire does. " _Please_ , don't give up. If you stop here, I leave, and we never get the chance to help you again." 

She doesn't touch Sumire in her mind's eye. Her usual sparkling is faint and lackluster, and the brand on her chest is an ugly shade of pink, festering slowly as the matte, frost-like fan flutters dimly. Sumire can't bear to look at what she's done to her. It is her fault. Jeanne is dying, and she can't do anything about it. 

"Sumire?" 

She opens her eyes to find a soft nose in her face, a small pink tongue poking her cheek lightly. Staring at her with cautious eyes, Yusuke nudges her hands away from her face. In the light, his white fur glows like a ghost, but his warmth is comforting as he wriggles closer to her, lying down on the pillow. 

"Yusuke, does Sandayu ever talk to you?" She asks quietly, stroking him softly. 

The fox blinks. "Why, yes, he does. Why do you ask?" 

Swallowing, the redhead sniffles slightly, her voice still hoarse. "I think I'm killing Jeanne." 

"Sumire, if your Persona is in danger, then it is not your fault. Instead, turn the blame onto Kamoshida." He says sagely, tail swaying idly. "It is to be expected that he's broken your spirit. It is my job as your mentor and friend to make sure it gets amended." 

There's a small pause as Sumire weaves her fingers through his soft fur, wiping the tears from her face and calming her breath. It's an ungodly hour of the night, and she has school tomorrow, even if she's been beaten like a flag in the wind. So she swallows, trying to shut her eyes, and lets her hand sink into Yusuke's fur. 

Somewhere else, Sakura Sojiro comes home to an apartment with the lights off. Hanging his coat by the door and slipping his shoes off, he tries to be as quiet as possible to avoid waking up Aimi. As the lamp switches on, he knows he's been busted. 

"Well, well, well. Sneaking in late, I see?" A voice calls out from the armchair, and Sojiro turns around with his hands in the air. 

"What can I say?" He smirks, his hair falling into his face. "I'm a rotten scoundrel at heart." 

Ryuji snickers, getting up from the chair and putting his book down on the coffee table. As he walks over to the kitchen counter, he unwraps a plate of food from the fridge, setting it down on the kitchen island. 

"How's that case moving along?" The teenager asks, fetching a glass from the cupboard. 

Sojiro sighs, running a hand through his hair. "Slowly. Kato-chan needs some files from my laptop in the morning, but she can't come to a café or an office tomorrow, so she's meeting me here. I think she has some work for your mother, too." 

Trying to hide the scowl on his face, Ryuji runs the tap, drumming his fingers on the marble counter. It's no secret that Ryuji and Kato-chan don't get along. They have a rivalry without the sportsmanship one would expect from a Student Council President and a professional detective. Sadly, it's subtle enough that there's not much Sojiro can do to stop it. They'll survive an hour or two in the same apartment together, though. 

"C'mon, kiddo, don't make that face," Sojiro says, picking his co-worker's side. "Kato-chan's plenty polite." 

"She's a _shark_ with a human face," Ryuji grumbles, placing the glass on the countertop by Sojiro's plate. 

Raising an eyebrow as he lifts his fork to his mouth, the older man gives him a stern look. "Watch it, Ryuji." 

"Sorry," The dark-haired boy sighs, popping a grape into his mouth. "She just... Doesn't really like me. I'll do my best to be polite though, chief." 

Sojiro affectionately ruffles his girlfriend's son's hair. Damn, what a mouthful. Although he and Aimi have been going strong, he's a little hesitant to start making her kid call him "dad" and all that jazz. Obviously, Ryuji's got every right to be cautious. His father was a horrible man, with an awful tendency to hurt others when he didn't get his way, which often happened with a strong-willed boy like Ryuji, back when he was a bull-headed little kid. After he left, and after Ryuji nearly got killed, the kid never really got around to being that stubborn boy he was before. With a tendency to quit arguing before the situation escalates, he makes for an awful debate partner. Of course, Sojiro doesn't put him through that kind of stress. The last thing the kid needs is a new pressure on him. 

"Atta boy," Sojiro smiles, patting him on the shoulder. 

Yawning, Ryuji heads up the stairs, his purple Sanrio socks peeking through the slats in the staircase. "I'm tapping out. I'll see you in the morning, Sojiro. Don't worry 'bout the dishes, I'll handle them." 

As he takes a sip of his water, Sojiro can't help but smile. He's a good kid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lots of dialogue this chapter, sorry for the shortness :))


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Futaba watches from a height.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Sexual Harassment, Body Horror, Injury, Blood, Kamoshitty being gross, Implied Sexual Content 
> 
> Big content/trigger warning for this chapter. :((  
> please take care!!

Isshiki Futaba watches her best friend throw herself from off of a building at 9:36 in the morning, the rain pouring down like the uncontrollable tears do down her cheeks. Kana is barely alive, yes, but her leg is shattered, the bone popping out of her skin like a horrible tree sprouting from the ground. She can't stop staring at it. The way it glistens red, how the scarlet blood seeps into the grass, and as she cries silently, the only thing she can think about is what a pretty color it is. Kana is lifted away from Futaba, the white sheet over her body glowing like lilies in the gloom. 

Without thinking, Futaba runs. Just to get out, to get anywhere that isn't here. The rain slicks against her face, pulling at her makeup and her clothes, soaking her socks and numbing her toes as she sprints through the crowd. The halls are empty, seeing as everyone else is gaping at the Principal's impromptu speech. Not noticing the tall boy in front of her, she knocks him to the floor, her teeth clicking against each other painfully. Skidding across the polished floor, Futaba looks up, knowing her makeup has run down her face like tar. The boy is delicate and ghost-like, with a wispy appearance. His shirt is untouched by the rain, and the lilac silk is clean, and he looks practically perfect with his dark waistcoat. Offering her a hand up, she notices the locket sitting at his collar as she lets him help her up. 

"Are you alright?" He asks, his face betraying no emotion other than mild worry. 

She wants to hit him. She wants to hug him. God, Futaba doesn't _know_ what she wants. Instead of giving him a proper answer, she breaks down sobbing, bringing her hands to her face and letting her shoulders shake. Stunned, for a moment, the boy doesn't do anything. Then, very gently, the boy leads Futaba out to the front garden, sitting her down on the steps. The area is empty, and the rain hammers onto the stone a few inches from where her shoes are. Futaba sobs, unable to stop herself. God, she must seem a mess and compared to this guy, she looks like such a tramp. Where he's got a fancy pocket watch and an intricate piece of jewelry, she looks like she's stepped out of a sleazy hostess club. 

Maybe the rumors really _are_ true. As Futaba wipes her cheeks of tears with the heels of her palms, the ginger-haired turns to look at the boy, her eyes puffy. "Why are you being nice to me? Don't you know who I am? What they'll say about you?" 

"If I'm being honest with you, Isshiki-chan," The boy starts, his voice leveled and controlled. "I simply do not care. It's unlikely the rumors will take hold, anyway. My father will take care of that." 

She can't help it. Futaba lets out another wail, this time burying her face in his shoulder. Without hesitation, he strokes her hair down, ignoring how the palm of his hand grows shiny with rainwater. They sit there for a little while, with the smaller girl clinging to his sleeve and crying her eyes out. The worst thing about it, and something she'll regret for ages, is the fact that she never gets his name. Even as the teachers drag her away to the office, calling her parents to tell her they're sending her home, Futaba doesn't catch his name. What a horrible, selfish person I am, she thinks. 

Kawakami walks her to the school gate, telling her to go straight home, and something about the length of her skirt, but Futaba doesn't care. The curling cream has washed out of her hair from the rain, so her long, ginger waves aren't curls anymore. Instead, her hair falls in a long, straight sheet, like a waterfall. She takes her twintails out, fiddling with the spiked cuffs behind her curtain of hair, hiding her face from everyone else on the subway. Honestly, she thinks about going home, she really does, but the thought of being alone in her apartment sounds like a death sentence. So, ignoring Kawakami's earlier warning, Futaba finds herself going to the only other place where she could feel safe. It's ironic, mostly because she's only been there once before, and she doesn't even know if Sumire is home. She wasn't at her desk this morning, but Futaba wasn't really paying attention. Her eyes were on Kana. 

The tall woman with the pretty silver hair looks up at her in confusion from the bar, wiping down the wood with a rag. Taking in the sight of her soaking clothes, running makeup, and dripping hair, she instantly rushes over, checking her presumably for any wounds.

"Just who is trying to _kill_ all of the Shujin girls?" She mutters, and the words themselves just send Futaba into hysterical tears again. 

Padding down the stairs in a knit sweater and some jeans, Yoshizawa peers underneath the low hanging ceiling, trying to figure out what's going on. Her arms are wrapped in gauze beneath the fluffed-out sleeves, and her neck is bare, showing the gruesomely purple bruise that coils around it like a snake. 

The silver-haired woman, Niijima-san, glares at her. "What are you doing out of bed? You need your rest. Did you drink all of that honey and lemon I gave you?" 

The redhead nods. Amidst the tears, Futaba finds herself wondering if her hair is actually that color. It's a lot of hair, and to dye all of it without the roots showing would be a commendable skill. Futaba sniffles, running into her outstretched arms as Yoshizawa stares defiantly, _sadly_ , into Niijima's dark eyes. She smells fresh and clean, like vanilla, and her arms are gently around her back as Futaba sobs, unable to speak. As she ushers her up the stairs silently, Yoshizawa clicks her fingers at Yusuke, and the fox leaps off of the bed obediently. Futaba sits down, gripping the redhead's hands tightly. 

"Yoshizawa-chan, it... It was Kana." She forces out through tears, "She's tried to - Tried to kill -" 

She can't force the sentence out of her stubborn mouth, so the worlds rot on her tongue like overripe fruit. Without even stopping to think of her relationship with Yoshizawa, she cries out again, wailing into her shoulder and gripping her hands tightly. All the redhead can do is pat her shoulder, rubbing soothing circles into her back. They stay like that for God knows how long, but it either must have taken her hours to get her and to stop crying, because soon, Goro is walking up the stairs, his face grey and pale. Futaba, still hiccuping softly, rushes to him, gripping him tightly. He and Kana were never as close as Futaba was with her, but back in elementary and middle school, they were all friends who hung out, played in the trees by the pond, and scraped their knees on mossy rocks.

Goro hugs her back, patting down her hair. The only thing he can say is, "It's straight now." 

Staring at her hands around the mug, Futaba doesn't really pay attention to what Goro and Yoshizawa are talking about. The fox yips a little too, but Futaba doesn't know what he says. For a talking fox, he doesn't speak much coherent language. The strangest part is, Sumire and Goro are really into selling this joke to her. Talking back to the fox, agreeing with his "points," all of it just makes her sick. How can they joke around and tease her when Kana has just tried to -

Futaba gets up from the table, slamming her mug down, and she runs out into the street. Not really knowing where she's going to go or why she's going, it's only a matter of seconds before the rain soaks her to the skin. Only one thing runs through her mind as she sprints to the train station, and it's marching straight into Kamoshida's office and asking him if he thought it was worth it. Asking him why, or "who the hell do you think you are," or something. She hates him so much, but this? This is the tipping point. She'd kill him, tear his face to shreds, or grind all of his bones to dust; she just wants him to be in pain. 

Futaba fumbles with her travel card long enough for Yoshizawa and Goro to catch up, the fox leaping from the redhead's shoulders onto the floor. Too busy looking over her shoulder, Futaba doesn't notice the girl standing in front of her. They both fall to the floor at the collision, the ginger-haired girl splayed out inelegantly between her legs, the contents of the other's bag spilling out. 

"I'm so sorry, I should have -" Futaba scrabbles to grab the other items, like paintbrushes and small palettes, but as she looks up, she stops. 

The girl is blonde, with eyes the color of spring skies and a symmetrical face. Her long hair is tied in a long braid, but small curls escape around her swooping fringe, gleaming like spun flax. They both stare at each other for a moment, the blonde girl's face turning into one of wonder and rapt fascination. Scrambling to her feet, Futaba apologizes once more with a hasty bow and rushes off, just as Yoshizawa and Goro make it to the ticket gate. 

Futaba presses herself against the doors, tapping her foot impatiently as the train speeds through the tunnels. She's not even sure that they're on this train, but if they are, they won't be able to see her; the sheer density of the crowd is enough to make her a little nervous. With her smudged makeup, mascara tears running down her face, and her dripping wet hair, Futaba knows she looks a mess. She finds it hard to care, though. As the doors open, she sprints up the stairs, praying her ankle doesn't betray her in her platforms. In the distance, she hears her name being called, and she doesn't answer. So full of anger, anguish, and pure spite, Futaba runs towards the school, unaware her phone has turned on in her bag. 

Scaling the stairs two at a time, Futaba rushes through the empty corridors, trying to block out the dark stain on the grass in the courtyard. Every time she closes her eyes, nothing but Kana falling through the air sears itself onto the backs of her eyelids. Futaba opens them before she hits the ground. The P.E. Faculty office is in sight, and anger courses through her veins like liquid mercury, quick and poisonous. Hurling the door open, she stands in the doorway, panting. Kamoshida turns around his chair, his eyebrows raising further up his forehead in confusion. 

"I thought I told you the deal's been cut off?" He mutters, completely indifferent. 

Futaba yells in anger, knocking a shelf to the floor with strength she didn't know she has. "Kamoshida! You - You _killed_ her!" 

The man hums in disdain. "No, she chose to do that herself. After all, it's not like she's actually dead. More like a vegetable, really. Is that all you're here for, kitten?" 

"You know, Yoshizawa and Goro kept saying you had some kind of weird, twisted way of seeing the world, yeah? They said you thought of this school as a _castle_." She growls, her voice guttural and rasping. "I'm starting to think that they're wrong. You don't see yourself as a king, and all of Shujin as a castle, oh no. You think this place is your own, private heaven and that you're the fucking _God_." 

And then, everything melts. It swirls, and it squishes, and honestly, it feels like Futaba's cheese in a tumble-dryer. Her surroundings change, and the air is thick with the scent of sweat and cheap body spray. Blinking hard to refocus her eyes, she finds herself in a royal-looking bedroom with red velvet draperies splashed across the walls and rose petals strewn across the brocade bed sheets. 

" _What the fuck_?" She whispers, looking around in shock. 

A distant sound of routine marching comes from an open window, and Futaba rushes towards it, leaning out. What greets her isn't the courtyard, but a vast, sprawling palace garden, with gauche statues of various women, all in rather suggestive positions. Futaba's lips wrinkle in distaste, and before she can call out for anyone to help her, the door opens behind her. In walks Yoshizawa, her lips painted a brilliant crimson. Dressed in a dark red, sleeveless leotard with a plunging neckline, her hips swaying as she looks at Futaba with a coy smile, it appears as a quick change from her sweater and jeans. On her head, a pair of tall bunny ears rest, one of them drooping slightly, her hair mussed a little. Bright pink lipstick stains are smeared over her neck, trailing down below her bodice, and, much to Futaba's horror, around her thighs, almost glowing in the dark light. 

"Aha! There you are!" She says, her voice a low, melodic lilt. Taking Futaba by the hand, she pulls her close, tucking her damp hair behind her ear. "Now, now, this won't do. Come on, let's get you cleaned up." 

Sumire and Goro run through the hallways, Yusuke leading them through the garden with practiced ease. 

"Hurry!" He calls over his shoulder. "I don't know how much time we have left. Her life could be in danger." 

Sumire sprints after him, the long panels attached to her bodice streaming behind her. As she looks over her shoulder, her eyes meet Goro's through his black mask, and he gives her a quick nod. Having lost Isshiki in the halls of Shujin, the only other explanation they had was to check the Metaverse. The more they explore Kamoshida's palace, the more Sumire wants to destroy it. After seeing Isshiki's cognitive double in her neon pink, fluffy bikini, cerise lipstick, and chunky cat paws, she was ready to burn everything to the ground. Dread is still churning in her stomach at the mention of the cognitive Isshiki's "bunny friend." Part of her thinks it's egotistical to think that Kamoshida would view her that way, but the rest of her knows that it's the years of being told she wasn't worthy of affection or attention that makes her want for any kind of recognition. 

She shakes the thoughts from her head, pressing onward to the castle's garden. In the distance, tall hedges loom like threatening obelisks, dark and jagged against the purple sky. Yusuke's white and blue fur glows in the murky air, guiding them through the maze with his nose in the air, sniffing every now and then. 

"How do you know Isshiki?" Sumire asks, ducking behind a hedge to avoid being spotted by a guard. Her voice doesn't seem to hurt too much in the Metaverse, she notes. 

Goro levels his crossbow, squinting as he aims it at the guard. With excellent marksmanship, the bolt hits the Shadow in the neck, black tar erupting from the wound. As it melts to the floor, he gingerly steps over it. 

"We went to middle school and elementary school together. Futaba's mom - she lives abroad in Finland - is a super rich fashion designer, and her dad ran off to Cuba for a business trip, which leaves her to their big-ass apartment, all by herself." He says, the chain links of his whip rattling as he scales the well in the middle of the maze, giving her a hand up. 

Sumire takes it, looking around for Yusuke. "So you're close?" 

Shrugging, the older boy examines his gloves. "I guess we were for a while. After she did all that modeling and I got in trouble with Kamoshida, we kind of drifted apart. Still calls me that god-awful nickname, though." 

Before Sumire can comment, a shrill scream echoes across the garden, and the white chiffon curtains rustle from a rather tall tower. Yusuke's white nose lifts up in curiosity, and he sniffs the air. He doesn't need to, really, because, in the next few moments, they all watch Isshiki struggle with a pair of fluffy handcuffs that chain her wrists together, backing towards the window. Giggling and squealing follow, drowning out Isshiki's swearing. 

"Shit," Goro says, "we really have to hurry." 

Turning to face Sumire, Yusuke hands her a rather odd-looking device. "This is a grappling hook. Attach it to your wrist and aim for that tower." 

She does as she's told, and a thin, silver chord stretches across the maze, attaching to the windowsill with a satisfying clunk. As Yusuke clambers onto her shoulders, she grabs Goro by the hand, and they sail over to the maze, laughing triumphantly. It's so freeing, just swinging through the air, but the moment is short-lived because apparently, Sumire can't have nice things. With a loud groan, they all slam into the wall of the tower, faceplanting against the hard stone. 

" _Ouch_ ," Goro groans, rubbing the bridge of his nose underneath his mask.

Sumire winces, pulling them all up to the windowsill. "Sorry! I thought we could make it to the window without hitting the wall." 

"A small miscalculation," Yusuke wheezes, clambering onto the windowsill and tugging them up behind him, "but we press on!" 

As her back hits the wall, Futaba feels the breath come forcefully rushing out of her ribs, knocking the wind right out of her. Not-Yoshizawa pulls her back by the handcuffs, angling her chin to look into her dark eyes with distaste.

"You're not Kitten." She states, narrowing her eyes. The dark red lipstick she wears is smeared around her mouth like blood, the remaining traces of it painted on Futaba's lips. "You're nothing but a _fake_!" 

Struggling against her restraints, Futaba yelps as Not-Yoshizawa's fingers dig deeper into her skin. "What the fuck do you want from me?" 

A slow, delighted smile spreads across her face, and the sight of it sends the ginger-haired girl's stomach into ribbons, knotting and unknotting in fear. "Anything I can get, _obviously_." 

This is the final straw. After being pinned to a bed that smelled like a locker room and a lingerie store mixed together, having pink handcuffs clasped around her wrists, and witnessing some weird, demonic version of Yoshizawa, Futaba has reached her limit. With a primal yell, she headbutts the girl in front of her so hard, she sees stars. The worst thing about it isn't the feeling like she's hit her head on solid, cold stone, but the cracking that follows the collision. Glancing up, she sees that a small crack splinters down the side of Not-Yoshizawa's face, small chunks of porcelain dropping to the floor. The "skin" around her eye falls off, revealing nothing but a hollow, empty shell. Futaba is rapt with horror, watching as Not-Yoshizawa smiles, the crack creeping towards the corner of her mouth. 

" _More_ ," She whispers, her voice breathy and low. 

She takes this opportunity to push past the thing imitating Yoshizawa, running to the window. The breeze is cold on her torn shirt, rifling through the rips in her clothing like sharp fingers. It makes her sick, but as the irregular clicking of heels sounds from behind her, Futaba knows that her only way out is down. Not-Yoshizawa staggers to grab her, and suddenly everything looks wrong. Her waist is too small, her fingers are too long, her chest is too broad, and the gap between her thighs looks so terribly unnatural. Instead of looking like the ideal bunny-girl model, the thing looks more like a surrealist statue. With a cracked and chipped smile, Not-Yoshizawa lunges towards her, a long, glistening tongue reaching out of her mouth and falling below her chin. Futaba screams, the noise echoing around the room with twice the volume she expects it to have. 

A sudden flash of steel and the sound of wet meat falling to the floor forces her eyes open. Dressed head to toe in red and black, a redheaded girl in a white domino mask steps in front of her, brandishing a thin sword with expertise and elegance. The monster in front of them screeches, a wet, gurgling sound ripping from its throat as its tongue falls to the floor, wriggling like a fleshy worm. As she looks over her shoulder, Futaba clocks that this is a different Yoshizawa, one who seems real enough to trust. She takes one look at the ginger-haired girl's handcuffs, scoffs in disgust, and breaks them apart with one swift cut of her blade. 

" _Disgusting_. What did it do to you?" She looks up, her posture exuding chivalry and elegance. "Are you hurt?"

Futaba is shaking like a leaf, and the cuffs are itching like rashes on her wrists. "N-No, not really." 

From behind her, a tall boy in a long, brown coat and tall boots hops over the windowsill, a white fox-like creature following close behind. "Everything okay?" He asks, but when his eyes fall to the monster in front of them, he lets out a startled yell. "Oh, holy fuck!" 

"Sssumire..." It hisses, and they all watch in terror as the stubby muscle in its mouth twitches and elongates, forming another working tongue. " _Sssssumire_!" 

Sumire draws her weapon. "We can't fight it, not without hurting Isshiki. Retreat back to the main hall, but split up. Goro, you take her across the rooftops; Yusuke, use the vents. 

Goro, Futaba realizes, nods, grabs her by the arm gently, nodding at their leader. "Roger that." 

The last thing Futaba sees of the monster is a thin blade slicing a cut in its crimson-red leotard. Tugging her away from the fight, Goro nods towards the roof, mumbling something about following him. She does as she's told, hating the feeling of the neon pink fluff on her arms. Even when she's outside, the air is stuffy and hot, and the heat trapped in the lipstick smeared against her mouth feels like a scar. 

Her friend jumps down through a window, grabbing her by the shoulders and placing her on a chandelier. "Wait here one second." 

Watching as he leaps over the railing and onto the landing by the staircase, Futaba grips the golden metal of the chandelier, feeling the cold metal biting into her cold palms as she leans over to watch him. Below her, Goro rips off his mask, and a tall creature with night-black wings and blazing red hair appears behind him, clicking its fingers with a kind of elegance that commands obedience as the knights around him collapse into piles of black goop. Her eyes widen as the thing behind him bows neatly, kissing his hand as it disappears with a flash of blue fire. Effortlessly leaping across the space beneath them to get onto the chandelier, Goro nods towards the next floor up, a faint blush on his cheeks underneath his mask. If Futaba weren't physically shaking, she would tease him about it, but her hands won't stop trembling, and every time she opens her mouth, she risks biting her tongue clean off. 

"We're nearly there. C'mon, it's all going to be okay." He reassures her, patting her lightly on her back. 

She hums absently, her eyes unfocusing as the black slime on the floor dissolves into nothing. Letting her friend lift her onto the next chandelier, Futaba feels the chain links break in the soles of her shoes before she feels the air rushing around her. As the light fixture plummets to the ground, she can't even bring herself to scream anymore, so she just looks up at Goro as she nears the floor, her eyes glazed over. Suddenly, like a punch to the gut, an arm wraps around her, knocking her to the floor. A horribly familiar cologne fills her nose and mouth like mustard gas, and two sickly-yellow eyes stare at her like a hyena gazing at a corpse. Kamoshida grins at her with a cruelty that makes her skin crawl, giving Goro a wave as he throws her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. 

When Sumire reaches the hall, and Goro shows up without Isshiki, she knows that their plan has failed in the worst way possible. Yusuke's nose lifts into the air, and with a long sniff, he's on her trail, leading them through each room like a bloodhound. When Goro points this out, the sheer rage in Yusuke's voice sends a shiver down Sumire's spine. 

"A dog?" He repeats, his voice shrilling a little. "You would compare me, a _divine_ kitsune, to a lowly _bloodhound_?" 

Goro shrugs. "Yeah. Hurry it up, though. I don't want Futaba getting hurt any more than she has been already." 

There isn't really a valid retort to that, so Yusuke huffs, his fur standing on end like an angry cat, and keeps his nose on the trail. "Soon, Goro-kun, you will see." 

A sudden scream sets their teeth on edge and their shoulders tensing to their ears, and Yusuke points towards a small corridor with a careless line of rose petals strewn across the carpet. The sound of sobbing and yelling gets louder as they near the door, and as Sumire places her hand on the doorknob, she puts her hand on the hilt of her sword. Motioning for them to attack in coordinated movements, she whispers a countdown under her breath, begging that they're not too late. 

The door gets kicked off of its hinges, clattering to the floor with a loud thump. Completely flattening two guards, the three of them burst in, weapons drawn. The downside of not checking how many guards there may have been in the room is that Sumire doesn't expect them to all get involved with restraining their little group. The guards' gauntlets and gloved hands knock the sword from her hands and all sensible thoughts from her head. With her vision swirling like looking at the world through a glassful of water, Sumire can barely make out Isshiki held down on a rack device, two other girls standing over her in skimpy clothing. Seeing her own face stare back at her in a bunny-girl costume is disconcerting, but if she's being honest, she's not entirely sure she's seeing right. Instead of the grotesque, over-exaggerated movements and proportions the other Not-Sumire had, this one possesses smooth curves and sultry eyes, translucent stockings shining like freshly polished wood. Next to her, Not-Isshiki is dressed in yet another plush bikini, with lime green cat paws and ears, hovering over a trembling Actual-Isshiki with a malicious look on her face. 

Stepping into the light, Kamoshida runs his hands over both of the girls' sides, lingering in places Sumire swears that she feels, like ghostly imitations of touch. "Well, well, well. Looks like the _vermin_ returned. Wouldn't it be so great if you learned from Bunny? I bet people would like you so much more if you weren't such a _prude_." 

Goro struggles against the guards, hissing like a wild animal. "Don't talk about her like that, you piece of shit!" 

He's quickly silenced with a slap to the face, then another to the opposite cheek. As Bunny and Kitten circle around the torture device like birds of prey, Isshiki thrashes against her restraints, snapping her teeth at the fluffy cuffs on her wrists. 

"Are you just going to take this?" Sumire yells, ignoring the strain on her throat. "Aren't you tired of sucking it up and bearing it?" 

Isshiki stops thrashing around, the pain in her eyes focusing onto something with feral fury. If her anger was visible, it would have _teeth_. 

As Yoshizawa yells for her, Futaba feels the anguish sharpen into anger, and she lets out a ragged breath, using her pain to keep her lucid. She's right. Futaba _is_ sick of this. 

"You're being too slow." A voice drawls from the back of her head, and a shot of pain sears through her temples. "C'mon, hurry up and listen to me, already." 

Screaming in agony, she shakes her head in an attempt to channel the pain into energy, but it feels like fire. It burns her eyes, her nose, her mouth, like swallowing acid or venom. 

"Yeah, that's right," A gravelly laugh bounces around the room, or maybe it's just Futaba's head. She can't tell anymore. 

"I want... He's going to..." She murmurs, her breath becoming ragged.

"Want revenge? _Good_." The voice says, and the scuffing of wheels reverberates through Futaba's skull. "Swear to me, swear by the Styx, that our contract is unbreakable." 

Gritting her teeth, Futaba lets out another shriek, tearing her hands out of the rope binding her to the wooden plank. The rope-burns hurt, but not as much as the feeling of not being able to breathe, the oxygen slowly being sucked out of Futaba's lungs and replaced with gasoline. Her hands fly to her throat, and she falls to her knees, gasping and wheezing through _something_ on her face. Trembling hands rise to trace the circular filters on each side of her face, running her finger over valves and zippers. She can't breathe, and she tugs hard, so hard that she hears the slow, tell-tale ripping of skin and wails in pain. 

Casting the gas mask to the side, Futaba gets to her feet, feeling the cold fire surround her like calming darkness surrounding stars. "Let's get even, Tisiphone." 

And just like that, a tall figure bursts from the flames, her chin-length, dark green hair covering her eyes and nose as she swerves in front of Futaba on wheels of neon purple lightning. Two long strands ripple around her chest, a much lighter shade of emerald than the rest. The wings on either side of her head flutter gently, and the glowing metal plates on her steel body pulse like a heartbeat, glowing green like poison. As she lets out a primal scream, Tisiphone's wide, paw-like sleeves reveal claws, sharpening into points as her white hood gently waves in the breeze. 

"You," She hisses, pointing straight at Kitten and Bunny. "You're going to pay. _You're going to pay_!" 

Swinging a neon blue baseball bat in her hands, Futaba finds herself equipped with rollerskates that hum with energy, and she swerves over to the cognitive doubles. The bat hits them both in their middles, shattering them into thousands of glittering shards. They fall like chiming rain onto the floor, showering Kamoshida with broken glass and cracked porcelain. Tisiphone waits at her beck and call, her engines purring like a pleased lioness. 

"You know what? I think I'll just kill you right here and now." She says, getting ready to arc her baseball bat right over his stupid, disgusting head. "'Pound of flesh,' and all that." 

Tisiphone cackles, her mouth opening to reveal rows of neon green fangs. "Let's fuck shit up!" 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uno what i'm not even going to stop her


End file.
